


Tell Him it's Going to Be Okay Enough Times and Maybe You'll Believe it Yourself

by Stisaac



Category: Boy Meets World, Girl Meets World
Genre: Friendship, Gen, but that's enough, cory and shawn are just the best friends ever, really - Freeform, that's all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-05-25 16:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6201950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stisaac/pseuds/Stisaac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Denial is a man's best friend. Actually, Shawn is Cory's best friend, but it looks like Cory might need one to keep the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have recently started watching Boy Meets World because even though I'm in my mid-twenties and most of my peers have already seen it, I am fashionably late to all parties. Anyway. I thought of writing this story the entire time I was writing what was actually a resignation letter, because my mind likes to avoid uncomfortable situations like writing resignations letters. I did manage to hold off however and write it in the very wee hours of the morning. Coffee is for writers, most definitely. In any case, here it is. Hopefully I didn't screw up the natural order of things too badly. I do not own any of the characters from Boy Meets World or Girl Meets World. If I did, Shawn never would have been absent for thirteen years. Hope you enjoy.

“I need to tell you something.”

Shawn is serious.

Shawn is almost never serious. Growing up, he was always making a joke out of something, always pulling a prank for a good laugh. At times, it would be insensitive and Cory would slap him, give him a scolding look, asking, “What's wrong with you?” Shawn would answer with a sheepish grin and a shrug of his shoulders.

Sometimes Shawn used his humor as a front to mask the pain of a rocky upbringing and absent parents. Cory would try to talk to him about his father or mother and Shawn would fire off joke after joke, lips smiling but eyes pleading for Cory to just go with it because that was easier than admitting that he was hurting.

Most of the time however, Cory liked to think that Shawn’s humorous and carefree spirit was one of his best traits. He could almost always coax a laugh out of someone, brighten their day. The older (and wiser) he got, the better Shawn learned to use it. He learned when to joke and when to shut up and just listen. He learned when to laugh it off and when to sit down and open up. He's sensitive now.

Sensitive, but almost never serious. There's a difference. A difference Cory can't quite put his finger on right now, but that's because he's too nervous to think about it. It makes him uneasy to see Shawn like this; so quiet and still. His brown eyes are filled with different emotions like fear, anxiety, uncertainty, but mostly he looks concerned. Concerned for Cory. Like whatever he's about to say, he knows will affect Cory in a hugely negative way and he's trying to figure out how to lessen the damage.

Shawn is quiet and still, but Cory can't stop moving. His left knee bounces up and down and his fingers twist in his lap. He's literally wringing his hands, but the more he tries to stop, the more they twist. He can't talk around the enormous lump of fear in his throat, but his thoughts are so loud that he wonders is Shawn can hear them.

His mom. Is it his mom? How can it be? Shawn has no clue who she is. Is it Jack? Did something happen to his half-brother? Topanga?

No. No, Topanga is in the other room, helping the kids with their homework. Cory can hear her voice now, dimly, in the midst of the roaring in his ears.

He knows.

It's Shawn. Something's wrong with Shawn. That's the only thing that makes sense. Cory knows that Topanga is fine because she's right there. He knows that it has nothing to do with the mother Shawn never met because he moved on from that a long time ago and recognized that Cory's mother raised him as her own. Jack is fine too because Cory just talked to Eric and he and Jack were-

Cory’s thought stops right there because Shawn takes a deep breath like he's preparing to speak. He shifts closer to his friend because though they're already right next to each other, he suddenly feels so far away.

“I've been having. . . these headaches,” Shawn begins, voice low and impossible slow. “They started about six weeks ago. At first I thought it was because I was traveling a lot. . . not eating or sleeping as much as I should have been. You know. Like in college.”

The joke passes with hardly any acknowledgement. Eating and sleeping was what Shawn did most of in college. He's joking now because he wants to make Cory feel better. And Cory manages to lift one corner of his mouth in a sort of smirk because he wants to make Shawn feel better.

“But,” Shawn dips his head and pinches the bridge of his nose and Cory can't help but wonder if he has a headache right now. If he's had a headache this entire time. “They just keep getting worse. The pain. The frequency. They kept me up at night and I was. . . getting nauseous.”

So he really hasn't been eating or sleeping a lot. Cory studies him. Shawn has always been fairly slight, and maybe it's just his imagination (because it's off and running wild by this point) but maybe his cheekbones are more pronounced. He does look pale and has dark circles carved underneath his eyes, but like he said, he has been traveling a lot lately. He had just returned home from Barcelona last week and before that he was in Japan. All that jet lag. . .

“Then a couple of days ago,” Shawn clears his throat, eyes staring at Cory’s hands, still twisting. “I- I passed out at my apartment.”

Cory jerks at that. His breath catches in his throat and he has to remind himself to inhale and exhale. Inhale. . . and. . . exhale. “Why. . . um, why didn't you call me?” he asks, wishing Shawn would just look at him. “Did you. . . get hurt?”

Shawn shakes his head. “I was sleeping on the couch and when I woke up I was really thirsty. I stood up too quickly I guess, and I blacked out. Fell right back on the couch.”

“Oh.” Cory nods. “But?”

“But, I had spoken to a doctor the day before and-”

The headaches. The nausea. The passing out. The doctor. Six weeks. He can't believe he's just hearing about this today.

“And he had told me to come on in and he'd do a routine checkup. When I told him everything that had been going on plus the fainting, he ordered a neurological exam. He said there was no reason to be concerned, he just wanted to be safe.”

“Shawn.”

Finally Cory’s vocal chords kick back into gear and the only thing they can manage is his best friend's name.

_(He still won't look up.)_

“They took some blood. . .”

_(Shawn hates needles.)_

“Tested my vision. . . my hearing. . . coordination. . . The past three days have just been a bunch of tests.” Shawn chuckles dryly. “I tried to tell them that tests aren't my strong point, but they didn't listen.”

_(That's not funny.)_

Cory flinches as Shawn’s hand comes to rest on his knee, attempting to still the bouncing.

“Cory.”

_(Shawn’s voice is shaking.)_

Cory shuts his eyes.

“I didn't do that well.”

He opens his eyes. Looks at Shawn. Really looks at him.

_(What does that mean?)_

He looks fine. Sure, a little tired. Maybe a little on the thin side. But all this about testing his hearing and vision and. . . coordination? Shawn can see. He can hear. He can walk. He got here, didn't he?

“It was nothing huge, just some small things. My vision was a little blurry. Coordination a little off. My reflexes were a little slow.”

_(He didn't say anything about reflexes before.)_

“My hearing is fine though.”

_(See? He's fine.)_

“Nothing huge,” Shawn repeats. “I never even noticed anything was wrong aside from the headaches. But enough small things that he wanted to do an MRI scan on my brain.”

_(No.)_

“Cory.”

_(No.)_

“They found something.”

_(No.)_

“It's about the size of a-”

_(Fine. He's fine. Shawn is fine.)_

“. . . not sure if the tumor is benign or-”

_(There's no tumor. “Shawn” and “tumor” don't go together. Shawn is fine. Tumors are not fine.)_

. . . surgery.”

_(No.)_

“Cory?”

Shawn is finally looking at him, but suddenly Cory finds it difficult to meet his friend’s gaze. His steady denial wavers and he fights back.

_(No, no, no, no, no.)_

“Breathe, Cor.”

_(Screw breathing.)_

_(Cor.)_

“I'm sorry.”

“You've got to be kidding me.”

He doesn't realize that he says that out loud until he sees Shawn react to the sound of his voice. He looks relieved and troubled at the same time. Relieved that he's finally speaking but troubled because he doesn't know how to proceed.

Neither does Cory.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

It comes out more broken than Cory wants it to. He doesn't want to make this about himself. This is about Shawn. This. . . whatever it is. Cory isn't entirely sure because he's still fighting to remain in denial. Plus, he was so lost in his thoughts he only heard about half of what Shawn said.

Some friend he is.

“I didn't want you to worry.”

For some reason that is beyond anything Cory can comprehend, tears spring to his eyes. He blinks them back, forces himself to look up at Shawn.

Shawn is biting his lip. Waiting for him to fall apart. Wondering how to hold him together.

_(Too late for that.)_

“I'm sorry.”

“Stop. Saying. That.”

_(Inhale and exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. . . Exhale.)_

“I know I should have told you sooner. Now I'm just kinda throwing it at you.”

_(Kinda. More like chucking it full force. Via knife.)_

“It's okay.”

“It's not.”

“It's going to be.” He can't let himself believe otherwise.

“It could be nothing,” Shawn says quietly. “Benign, I mean it's still. . . a tumor, but- It doesn't have to be. . .” He trails off when Cory starts to shake his head.

He can stop Shawn from saying it but he can't stop his own freaking brain from drumming it into reality.

_(Cancer.)_

Cory takes a deep breath but it still feels like he's drowning. “Tell me again,” he says, determined to listen no matter how much it hurts.

Shawn tells him that there's a tumor in the right of his brain. That it's about the size of a small ping-pong ball which is slightly smaller than a ping-pong ball. That the doctor wants to remove it and do a biopsy on it to see if it is. . . benign or not.

_(It's funny how “benign” means “non-cancerous” yet with enough discipline and denial, it can almost mean “absolutely nothing to do with cancer whether it's benign or not. Benign means something far less serious and if it's not benign then it's. . . nothing at all.)_

It's just too bad that Cory can't get past the whole part about a ping-pong ball sized tumor inside of Shawn's brain.

_(A small ping-pong ball. Whatever that means. It sounds better.)_

“Cory?” Shawn. Begging him to say something. Shawn.

_(Shawn. Tumor. Brain. Shawn. Brain. Tumor. Shawn. Ca-)_

Cory shakes his head. “When?”

“Next week. The seventh.”

The seventh is in five days. “Okay.”

“Cory-”

“Don't, Shawn.” Cory shakes his head again, wishing he could just shake it all away into non-existence. “Don't.” Tries to take another deep breath with his waterlogged lungs. “It'll be okay. You'll be okay.”

_(It has to be okay. He. He has to be.)_

Cory slips an arm around Shawn’s shoulders and pulls him in closer. Tighter. So tight that he hears Shawn let out the tiniest grunt of surprise. But he doesn't loosen the hold.

_(Shawn, this is a hug. Okay? This is a hug! And this is when you hug somebody. When you care about them and you want them to know that!)_

He's not about to let go.

_(Now, you cannot leave here, do you hear me?)_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always been really terrible at writing notes at the beginning and end of any chapter I've ever written. So, this is me admitting that and therefore excusing my lack of an actual note here. Thoughts? Comments? Questions? Concerns? What color is the dress? 
> 
> On a more personal note that I'll try to keep short: I suck at creative writing. But I enjoy it. I do it for myself when the ol’ anxiety gets too much to handle and in currently in the middle of a mid-life crisis. Of course, then life decides to make lemons out of my lemonade and make writing something that causes me to be even more anxious so that's why I currently have a million unfinished projects. This one is going to be short so fingers crossed I stay on top or in control, at least enough to “fake it ‘til I make it”. But this is just me putting out a sort of disclaimer that the odds of this getting finished depend on my emotional and mental state and I have not yet learned how to quite manage either. 
> 
> We'll see?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on my resume, which means I'm actually having anxiety attacks and then writing this until three in the morning. It's fun to be an adult. 
> 
> On a note that's BMW related, I've been listening to Kelly Clarkson’s piano version of “Piece By Piece” and thinking of how well it fits Shawn. Additionally, though I'm only halfway through season two, I've cheated for writing purposes and have watched bits and pieces of future episodes. I got to “Family Trees” and most definitely teared up over how much Cory cares about Shawn. It's really one of the best relationships I've ever seen portrayed anywhere. 
> 
> But enough of my jibber jabber. Here's some more sleep deprived writing. This chapter in mostly in past tense because it moves back and forth between brief past and the present. I hope it’s coherent!

 

Cory tells Shawn that he's moving into the apartment with him and his family for the next week (at least) and refuses to hear otherwise. Shawn doesn't even bother to argue for two reasons. The first is that he knows it's useless to argue. He has no chance of winning. The second reason is that he's actually scared to death. But Cory only has to know half of those reasons.

Telling Topanga and the kids was hard. Cory tried and mostly succeeded in being stoic. He didn't cry, but his hug said more than enough. Shawn was just grateful that his friend made an attempt to keep things as even keeled as possible when it came to showing emotions. But Topanga. . .

She kept it together for the sake of Riley and Auggie. Auggie who immediately burst into tears and begged him not to die. Riley who told her little brother to shut up because no one was dying. She stormed into her room, followed closely by Cory, and Shawn knew that he'd have to talk to her too, but later on. There was no way he could leave Topanga and the littlest Matthews.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, gently rubbing August’s back. He was far from comfortable. He was never good with kids, especially when they cried. “There's nothing to worry about right now, okay? The doctors just want to be safe.”

Auggie tore himself away from his mother and threw himself at Shawn who staggered a little, but gladly received the hug. It made him feel like he was doing something. Like he wasn't totally useless.

“Sweetie, Uncle Shawn is right,” Topanga told him, smiling at Shawn over the top of her son’s curly head. Her eyes were bright with tears but they weren't falling. Not yet. Topanga was a master of control in front of her children. “We can worry if there's something to worry about and for now. . . there's nothing.”

What a lie. Cory and Topanga were already out of their minds wild with work rry and it made Shawn sick to think about. And God help them if they got the worst case scenario. Cory was only holding himself together because that's what he did when he had to take care of other people. So did Topanga. It's what made them such amazing parents. But Topanga only had to hold herself together until the kids weren't there to see her fall apart. And that's what she did.

She didn't cry until the kids were in bed later that night, and then she sobbed so hard that Cory and Shawn could only stare at each other, helplessly.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered when she had run dry. “I'm so sorry, Shawn.”

He couldn't tell what she was apologizing for. For the tumor or for crying about the tumor. Either way, it wasn't her fault, but knowing Topanga she was probably apologizing for both. “Topanga,” he said softly. “There's nothing you have to be sorry for.”

“What can we do for you?” she had asked, pleading him to give her direction. Pleading for him to tell her how to take it all away.

Shawn gave his best smile and shrugged. “Let me borrow Cory on the seventh?” Even as the words left his mouth, he felt a stab of guilt for having to take Cory away from his family. But his half brother was on the other side of the country and Shawn didn't want him to make the long trip to New York if it turned out to be nothing. And he was too much of a coward to go on his own.

“And you're moving in,” Cory said, squeezing Topanga’s hand. “You can sleep here tonight and I'll take you to pick up your things in the morning. But I'm not going to let you stay on your own right now, Shawn. You can stay here or I'll move in with you. Take your pick.”

Shawn looked at Topanga, wiping her tears away and nodding firmly at every word that came out of her husband's mouth. He looked at Cory who looked too pale to be truly okay. And he hated himself.

The self loathing stays with him long after he convinces Topanga and Cory to go to bed. Convinced them that he'll be okay out on the couch for the night. It curls around his middle when Topanga hugs him and presses a kiss on his cheek before leaving him with Cory. It wraps itself around his throat when Cory hugs him like he's suddenly made out of glass and tells him again that it's going to be okay. And when Cory finally leaves, the guilt hops up on the couch next to Shawn and makes itself real comfortable. It's here for the long haul.

He lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Tries to tell himself that this is okay it's not an inconvenience. Tries to fight back the voice in his head that tells him this is the worst thing he could possibly do to his best friend and his perfect little family. Tries to believe that it's not his fault for ruining their happiness. Tries to tell himself that this is better than running away because that never worked out in the past, did it? Pushing them away. It scared them. That's what Cory's dad told him once.

But this is scaring them. This is scaring them more than ever. Even when he does the right thing, he messes it up. Shawn digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, pressing until he sees spots. Guilt has moved onto his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He doesn't know what to do.

He knows that leaving wouldn't work this time. He'd never be able to keep this a secret from them. Already he tried until it got too big for him to handle. Shawn remembers the doctor telling them about the tumor and suddenly he wasn't hearing anything else because all he could think of was how much he needed his best friend.

Shawn sniffs, annoyed at himself when a stubborn tear wets his eyelashes and the trickles down the side of his face. He's an adult. Too old to be crying over his stupid, stupid problems. The stupid insecurity that leaves him for months at a time only to come back in waves, drowning him.

The end of the couch where his feet are dips slightly and Shawn stiffens. “Shouldn't you be asleep?”

“Shouldn't you?” Cory's voice is quiet. “Shawn. Have you told Jack?”

“No.” Shawn is proud of himself for having such a steady voice. At least he can do that right. “He's in California.”

“He's your brother.”

Shawn’s head is hurting. He pretends it's from the mess of emotions inside rather than the tumor. “I don't want him to come all the way out here if it turns out to be nothing.”

“And what if it's not nothing?” Cory's voice is impossibly gentle, but he's still trying to get his point across. Shawn wants to avoid the problem as much as possible, but Cory is smarter than that. He knows this is something they have to face head on. It’s been this way ever since Shawn can remember. “He’d want to know either way, Shawn. He cares about you. You know that.”

“I know.”

The silence that stretches between them feels like it’s burning a hole in Shawn’s chest. He doesn’t know what to say. The words, “I’m scared” are at the tip of his tongue and he knows if he just opens his mouth. they’ll slip out. They’re all that’s in there, but it’s the very last thing he wants to say. But Cory is right there, waiting for him, needing for him to say something.

“I can’t.”

“You’ll hurt him.”

“I’m hurting him either way, aren’t I?” Shawn sits up and turns to face Cory. The room is dark, but he can just make out his friend’s face. He’s worried. Typical. “Cory, it’s bad enough that I’m dragging you into this whole mess. You have your job, Topanga, your kids, the last thing you need is-”

He feels Cory tense next to him and stops because he knows he said the wrong thing. “I didn't mean it like that.”

Cory slumps back against the couch cushions, arms folded across his chest. He isn't looking at Shawn when he speaks. “I think you do mean it like that though. Whether you realize it or not.” In true Cory fashion, he doesn't sound annoyed or angry. But he sounds disappointed. Hurt. And somehow that's a million times worse.

Shawn feels a hand on his shoulder. “Shawnie,” he flinched underneath Cory's gentle grasp. “Why would you think you're dragging me into this like I wouldn't willingly jump into it?”

“I don't want you to,” Shawn whispers into the dark. “I don't want you to get hurt. That's why I used to push you away when things got tough. That's why I don't want to call Jack. It minimizes the casualties when everything blows up in my face.”

“Does it really?”

It doesn't even sound like Cory is arguing with him. But Shawn immediately thinks back to high school and the drinking. He thinks for the second time that night, of Cory's dad saying that he scared them. “No,” he admits. “I guess not. I just. . .” he picks distractedly at a loose thread of the blanket Topanga gave him. “I don't want you to get hurt, and either way you're going to. I can't stop it.”

“Shawn,” Cory squeezes his shoulder. “It hurts because you're my brother. And I care about you. That's the way relationships work. You take the bad with the good.”

In spite of himself, Shawn snorts. “Even if it's really bad?”

Another squeeze. “Even if it's the worst.” He hears Cory swallow hard. “I'm with you no matter what, buddy. Taking the best and the worst right with you.”

He almost says it then. It would be so easy. Just admit it and get it over with. “I'm scared.” Two words. That's all. Shawn isn't expecting Cory to have any great words of wisdom. It's not like he can make it all go away with a few words of assurance. Even Cory Matthews can't do that. But Shawn feels like the gaping hole in his stomach, that is fear eating him alive, might close up at least a little bit. Two words. He opens his mouth.

“Thanks, Cor.” Two words, but not the ones that sit at the back of his throat and wait. The sentiment is as true as anything, but Shawn still feels the hole inside him widen and it physically hurts.

He must have winced or something because Cory's hand moves from his shoulder, down to his elbow, holding him to get his attention. “Are you okay?”

Headache. Probably the tumor talking. Heartache. Again, the tumor talking. Shawn kind of feels like he's falling apart all over. “I'm fine,” he says. Two words again. But the wrong ones. Again.

“Get some sleep,” Cory tells him. “We’ll call Jack in the morning.”

Shawn's throat aches from trying to swallow the lump lodged there. He tried to clear it. He feels like a little kid, caught in the act of doing something wrong. The guilt from earlier comes roaring back and he can't convince himself that it's entirely unwarranted. “ ‘Kay.”

“Okay.” Cory sounds relieved. “Good.”

“And,” Shawn hesitates briefly. He knows one way he can maybe, possibly, make this easier for Cory. For everyone. “And maybe your family too.”

Cory is a family guy. Shawn grew up pushing everyone away when he was hurting, while Cory dragged everyone as close as possible. As if there really was safety in numbers.

Maybe there was.

Regardless, Shawn knows that even though he doesn't want to burden anyone, he's already burdened Cory. And he can't let him carry the weight by himself.

“Good.”

How interesting, Shawn thinks, it is to have a conversation with another person in almost complete darkness. He can see Cory's face, just enough to see shadowed emotions. Shawn can hear him more than anything else. The relief in that one word is enough to make him feel almost sort of okay about the whole calling everyone deal. It does make Cory feel better even if Shawn feels worse.

“Sleep,” Cory instructs once more. “Rest.” He stands up and the couch shifts, making Shawn feel uneven. He doesn't immediately walk away though, hanging around like he wants to say something more.

“Thanks, Cory.” Shawn says quietly. “Please. You get some rest too.” He lays back down because he knows Cory isn't moving until it at least looks like he's falling asleep.

The floor creaks as Cory rocks back and forth on his heels a couple of times. Shawn feels the blanket being adjusted slightly so that it completely covers his shoulder. “Night, Shawnie.”

Shawn shuts his eyes tightly. “Night, Cor.”

 

* * *

 

 

When he opens them again a few hours later, the morning sun is rising, just beginning to color the sky in pink and purple, lighting it with its warm rays. Shawn blinks, trying to adjust his eyesight to the brightness.

The first thing he sees is Cory which was of course the last thing he saw the night before. He hasn't moved. Except he has. He's not standing there anymore, staring at Shawn like he's afraid of having him suddenly disappear. He's in the recliner across the room, face half covered by the blanket Topanga made for him to celebrate their first anniversary.

“Uncle Shawn.”

Shawn pulls his eyes away from the sleeping Cory (thank God, he's sleeping) and looks just beyond the recliner. “Hey, Riles.”

Riley is standing there, hair a sleep-tousled mess and still wearing her bright pink pajamas that have kittens all over. She looks tired and blotchy. Like she cried herself to sleep and then woke up periodically throughout the night. Shawn remembers and sits up, beckoning to her. “C’mere.”

For the briefest instance, he's afraid that she'll fly off to her room again in a storm of denial. But instead she tries only once to offer a smile, one weak little smile, before she's next to him and hugging him. She's not crying, but she's shaking.

“It'll be okay, Riley.” Shawn tells her, hating himself because he had always sworn to never make empty promises.

Riley clings to him and whispers fiercely into his ear, two words. Not the ones Shawn thought last night, but he hears them all the same.

“Don't. Die.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was sufficiently depressing. I'd say more but it's been a lousy day. Just. Blah. Sorry. I think sleep would help, but I've been struggling lately. So I'm just really tired and kind of sad and really stressed. But, that's life sometimes, right?
> 
> Right. The sun will come up tomorrow. Have a good week, xoxo me. And I promise that's not me being sarcastic. I genuinely wish you the best. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one and there's a large time jump around the middle. The focus of this story is Cory and Shawn's friendship, but I wanted Jack to have his own chapter at least. Next one, the story will actually progress. 
> 
> I hope that the characterizations of everyone are close enough. Like I've mentioned before, I'm only on season two, but I've watched plenty of future clips to have a vague idea. I think. And hope.

 

Jack Hunter is in California, thousands of miles from his friends and family, but he's never been happier. He's working for the Peace Corps once again, and this time it feels right. Maybe because he's doing it for himself and not because he wanted to be with Rachel. Before, there was always a part of him that questioned why he was there and whether he belonged. Was he there because he wanted to make the world a better place or because he wanted to be with Rachel?

Deep down, Jack knows that even though he told himself it was the former, it was really the latter that played a bigger part in the picture. And it felt wrong. It tainted the experience. When he and Rachel broke up, he just didn't see the point in staying. He thought that the break up was the start of the series of bad decisions he made, but now he knew it started right after college. There's not the tiniest bit of resentment that he holds for Rachel however, because he knows it all rested on his shoulders. He still misses her, but in the way that he misses Shawn and Cory and Topanga and Eric. He doesn't feel lost without her anymore.

The point is that Jack is finally, really happy now. Things are going really well. He just spoke with Eric about flying out to New York to surprise Shawn for his birthday next month. The prospect of seeing everyone again is a welcome idea and the timing works well because of the conference in DC the week before. He still has to talk with his supervisor about the side trip, but he's sure it'll all work out. Everything is lining up perfectly.

Then his phone rings and life throws him a curveball.

It's nine in the morning and Jack has a meeting in half an hour to talk about a string of campaigns at colleges along the West Coast. They're trying to glean some more volunteers or people who might be interested in a career. Which is why he's sitting at his desk, looking up statistics on today's college students, feeling way older than thirty-six. It's been a long time since he was in college and he's realizing how different things are now.

It's almost a relief when his phone rings and stops him from wondering if he can even relate to these people anymore. Though he is curious as to why Shawn is calling him at noon, East Coast time. Between the two of them, they're usually too busy to talk until well into the evenings.

“Shawn. Hey, bro!” Jack turns away from the computer screen, giving up on researching his target audience for the time being.

“Hey. . . Jack. Sorry to call so early. I know you're probably busy. You gotta minute?”

Shawn's voice sounds off. Jack can hear it right away. He frowns and glances at his watch even though he knows the time. “For you?” he asks, keeping his voice light. “I got about twenty-seven. What's up?”

The pause is long enough that Jack glances at his phone to see if they somehow got disconnected. An uneasy feeling wakes up and settles into the pit of his stomach but he tries to push it away. “What's up?” he repeats.

“I. . . um, need to talk to you about something.” Shawn says, the words sounding breathless. “And it might not be anything, but I. . . Cory said I should call you. And he's right, I guess, I just. . . didn't want to worry you.”

“What is it?” Jack licks his dry lips nervously. Something's wrong. And not just a little bit. Something is really wrong. With Shawn. His mind doesn't go in a thousand different directions, trying to guess, because he can't let himself think of what it could possibly be.

Another pause, except this time Jack can hear Shawn talking to someone in the background. Cory. Cory is right there with him and though Jack can't make out what he's saying, he can hear the serious tones both of them are using. His stomach takes another anxious dive. “Shawn,” he says, fear reducing his voice to a whisper. “What's the matter?”

“I don't know.” Shawn's voice is quiet too at first, but then he clears his throat and speaks louder and more quickly, trying to ease the tension. “It might be nothing, Jack. There might not be a problem at all. Or not a big problem anyway. We're talking worst case scenario versus best case scenario here. I just. . . didn't know want you to have to find out all of the sudden if it happened to be the worst case.”

It feels like Jack’s lungs have decided to stop functioning properly. He turns back to his computer and without opening another tab, he starts typing. “Shawn, I can buy a plane ticket out there right now.”

“No, no, no!” Shawn sounds alarmed. “Jack, I don't want you to fly way out here if it turns out to be nothing.”

“If what turns out to be nothing?” Jack demands, his voice rising a little. “Shawn. Tell me what it is!” His hands are shaking and instead of selecting New York City for a flight destination, he clicks on somewhere in Canada. He backtracks furiously and stands up, telling himself not to panic but panicking all the same. He swallows hard. “You know, you don't want me to worry, but you're not really saying anything and that's not helping.”

“I just. . . don't know how to say it,” Shawn admits.

“Did you relapse?” Jack blurts out, shocking himself. Relapse? Really?

Shawn laughs which just shocks him even more and confuses him. And worries him too because there's no humor in the laugh. “No. No, nothing like that. I'm not out getting drunk. I wish it were that simple.”

Relapse was the wrong word. Shawn had his struggles with alcohol growing up, but relapse sounds too harsh. Before Jack can say anything, he hears a muffled argument between Shawn and Cory. And then Cory's voice. “Jack?”

“Cory,” Jack sighs, dropping his head into his free hand. He runs at his temple. “Just tell me. No more games.”

“Shawn has a brain tumor.”

Jack’s whole body freezes. Dimly, he hears voices again and then Shawn's voice saying his name, but he can't bring himself to reply. It takes too much effort.

“Jack? Jack, can you hear me? Are you okay? I told Cory not to say it like that.”

How was he supposed to say it? Shawn danced around it, talking in circles until Jack got dizzy and asked for the truth, straight and simple. He got what he asked for.

“Jack, say something. Talk to me.”

Someone taps at his door and Jack glances up. Sam, his co worker, is standing there, looking inpatient. “Meeting?” he says, gesturing frantically at his watch. “In five minutes?”

Jack shakes his head. Turns back to his computer. Manages to find and locate what he needs. Clicks a few times. Marvels at how simple it all was.

“Jack!” Shawn and Sam say almost simultaneously.

“I'm coming home.”

* * *

 

Shawn doesn't look sick.

That's what Jack thinks right before he finds himself trying not to crush his brother in a hug.

He looks perfectly normal. Like Shawn. Jack can't see even the slightest of hints that something might be amiss. He feels normal in Jack’s embrace, slightly uncomfortable and comforting at the same time. He sounds normal, saying “It's fine.” over and over, talking too much, until he knows it's not doing any good.

“I was going to come out to surprise you on your birthday,” he tells Shawn now. “If you wanted me to come earlier, you could have just asked. You don't have to be so dramatic.”

Shawn relaxes a little in his arms, laughing, and even though the words sound really wrong to him in his mouth, Jack is glad he made such a stupid joke. “You know me.”

“Yeah.” Jack reluctantly lets go and looks him over. Nope. He still looks fine. “I do.”

“I'm sorry, Jack. I should have told you sooner. I should have told all of you sooner.” Shawn glances behind him and Jack noticed Cory for the first time. “I knew you'd find out eventually and I wanted it to be on my terms. I wanted to make it as easy as possible. And I didn't know how to do that so I wasted a lot of time trying to figure it out. And I truly am sorry.”

“It's fine, Shawn, really.” Jack runs a hand through his hair. He nods at Cory who is still standing behind Shawn, waiting patiently. “Thanks, Cory.”

“Hey, no problem.” Cory gives him a half smile. If anyone is sick, Cory looks closer to it than Shawn. He looks pale and tired and a little shaky. “It's good to see you, Jack. Sorry it can't be under better circumstances.”

Jack swallow hard and nods again. “Yeah, me too.” he says quietly.

Cory slides past Shawn and opens his arms for a hug. Gratefully, Jack accepts. He's not sure who is comforting who, but it's a start. “It'll be okay,” he says, again unsure. Unsure of who he's trying to convince. Cory. Shawn. Or himself.

“I'm glad you're here,” Shawn says when Jack and Cory step apart. “I missed you.”

It's unlike of Shawn to so quickly admit something like that. To show his vulnerability. And that's when Jack actually sees the first sign that something is really wrong. It's more than just the words over the phone (the words that he still can't quite comprehend). It's real.

“Me too.” He tries his best to give his brother, and Cory, a reassuring smile. Clapping his hands together, he sits down on the Matthews living room couch and gestures the two younger men to do the same thing. They do so in such perfect unison that he almost laughs. Even now, in their thirties, they're so perfectly in sync with one another.

He used to envy Cory for being so close to his brother. How when Shawn pushed everyone away, he'd let Cory come close and drag him back from the edge. Jack was the big brother. Jack was the one who was responsible for him. The one who was supposed to take care of him. But it was Cory. Always Cory.

It was always Cory who knew what was best for Shawn. Always Cory who could predict his wild self-destructive behavior. Always Cory who stuck by him no matter what. Always Cory who never gave up on him even when he seemed unreachable. It was Cory then, and it's Cory now. Cory was the first person Shawn told, and a younger Jack might have been upset by that. But he knows Cory just as well as Shawn now, and the only feeling Jack has for him is a sense of overwhelming gratitude that he'd never be able to fully express.

He can see Cory now, wavering in his usual stubborn optimism. The same Cory who always insisted that everything would be fine and work out for the best is painfully quiet now. It unnerves Jack to realize that of the three of them, Cory is the only one who hasn't said “It's going to be okay”. He used to think that Cory could will things into being okay by pure determination and even now he wants him to say it. But he doesn't.

So Jack does. Again. “It's going to be okay,” he says, tasting the lie and deciding that he hates it. Hates himself. “Tell me what's going on.”

“They're going to do surgery to remove the tumor,” Shawn replies quietly. He's given up on beating around the bush and Jack is grateful for that. “Then they'll perform a biopsy on it to see if. . . if it's benign or not.” He shrugs. “As for what happens after that, I guess we'll just have to wait and see.”

Jack just nods. There's nothing he can really say. He can't tell Shawn that his tumor is going to be benign. He can't tell him that the surgery is nothing to worry about it. The doctors Jack doesn't even know are going to be cutting into his brother’s skull and-

He has to fight down a wave of nausea. “Okay. Okay. So we'll wait.” But he just has to know and it makes him feel better to talk. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I feel fine, believe it or not,” Shawn holds up his hands like he is still having trouble grasping the situation himself. “I've been having bad headaches, but right now. . . I feel fine.”

Jack has a million more questions. How bad are the headaches? How long has Shawn been having them? Are the headaches the only symptoms? He can tell just by looking at Cory, that these questions have already been answered. And while he fully intends on finding them out for himself, Jack decides he can wait on that for the time being. Shawn looks tired of talking about it and if he can help him by giving him a break, then Jack will. Besides, Cory looks like if they keep talking about it, he's going to shatter into tiny pieces on the floor.

Kind of how Jack feels right now.

So he stays calm for their sakes. He stays calm while the three of them attempt half-hearted conversations on the weather, the Phillies, and waffles. He stays calm when he tells them he's going to run to the drugstore to pick up a few things that he forgot to bring with him. He stays calm when he tells both of them to stay home, he can shop by himself.

Jack stays calm until he gets outside the apartment building. Then his emotions boil to the top and he can hardly breathe. Everything inside of him, fear, helplessness, confusion, grief, it all morphs into a blinding fury. Trembling violently, he balls his hands into fists and slams one with all of his might into the brick wall of the apartment.

Pain explodes in his left hand, traveling from his knuckles, all the way up his arm and into his brain where stars burst everywhere in his vision. He doubles over, clutching his hand against his chest, already feeling blood seeping from between clenched fingers. Then he stumbles into the alleyway and vomits, just missing the dumpster. He can't tell if it's the physical pain in his hand or the agony that has a vice grip on his heart. Maybe it's both.

He stays hunched over, leaning against the wall for support, and waits until the fuzzy edges in his vision start to clear. Then Jack glances at his hand and winces. His knuckles are bloodied and swollen, purple and black bruises appearing quickly. One of his fingers looks like it's been knocked out of proper alignment. He tries to flex the hand and even though the pain sends the edges fuzzing back, he can move four of his fingers. The crooked one is almost certainly broken.

Jack sighs and closes his eyes, waiting for the pain to subside. It feels good in a sick sort of way. His worry for Shawn is still controlling his every thought and emotion, but the throbbing dims those thoughts and emotions just enough to make it all bearable. For the first time since Cory told him what was wrong, Jack feels like he can breathe again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, this chapter was half filler and half exposition. I wanted Jack to find out and then just BE there. I didn't want to drag anything out. I looked it up and saw that it takes slightly over six hours to fly from LA to New York, and if I'm wrong, blame Google. Blame my lazy researching too, but definitely blame Google. 
> 
> I'm frustrated because I feel like this chapter started out well enough and then it just got rushed. And I don't know how bad this is, but I'm trying not to overthink this whole writing process. I feel like, as a writer, I should take pride in it and make sure everything is as close to perfect as possible, but if I just write what is basically my stream of conscious, it helps with my anxiety. So, this is just me making excuses but staying on top of me and my feelings. That's how I make it work. I don't want to overthink anything. I'm tired of doing that. 
> 
> Did any of that make sense? I'm tired. And sorry. Sorry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to address something else before the actual chapter begins. I wanted this story to be in the GMW universe because I wanted to explore the idea with everyone as grown adults. And as much as I want to include Cory being a father, Riley and Auggie may not be very prevalent in this story. They'll show up here and there, but I wanted to blend BMW with GMW to meet everything I wanted. I hope that's okay!

 

“I'm glad you brought your family, Shawn. Never underestimate the power of support.”

Shawn shifts uncomfortably in his chair, drumming his fingers on the armrest. He nods. “Yeah well, I didn't really want to go through this alone and they've gotten me out of every other mess I've found myself in, so I'm really fortunate that way. I learned a while back to stop taking them for granted.”

His smile is real, but it's small. He means every single word, but he's nervous. This is the part where the doctor tells him and the others exactly what's going to go down. No more vague answers or “waiting and seeing”. All of the options, all of the possibilities, and all of the choices are about to be laid out before them. Best case scenario, worst case scenario, and everything in between.

The only thing that's keeping him together is the fact that he's surrounded, literally, by the people who love him most of all. Cory and Topanga are on either side of him, and Jack looms over him from behind, hands providing a steady pressure to the back of his chair. Cory is on his right, a steady rock of assurance and quiet support. On his left, Topanga is crushing his hand, but he's grateful for it.

Just like old times. Shawn can't help but think of how perfectly fitting it all is. Topanga, disregarding any possible embarrassment by holding his hand in favor of letting him know how much she cares for him. Cory, his quietness speaking volumes just by his presence. And Jack, always there when he turned around to look.

Doctor Henry Jacobson peers at the three of them over the tops of his glasses. He's one of those men who looks sixty, but is probably only in his late forties. Like his job aged him. There's a world of weariness in his sharp blue eyes, as if years of handing out bad news has taken a toll on him. But his voice is gentle and kind. He speaks slowly and clearly, giving them all enough time to soak up his words and try to understand.

“Shawn, the tumor in your brain is what's been causing your headaches and other small impairments. It's in the cerebral cortex of your brain, specifically the temporal lobe. The temporal lobe is where your auditory senses are processed, but the cerebral cortex on a whole is where most of your brain functions take place in regards to your basic senses.”

“Does that mean my hearing would be affected more than anything else?”

“Possibly,” Doctor Jacobson nods. “Now, you said that you didn't notice anything off aside from the headaches, correct? But the tests showed otherwise?”

He can feel Jack gripping the back of his chair more tightly and remembers that this is the part only Topanga and Cory know about. He regrets making his brother fly into this so blindly, but it's too late to go back now. What's he supposed to say, “Excuse me, Doc. I need to go let my brother that I didn't pass a bunch of simple tests with flying colors.”?

“Um, yeah. I had a slight loss with my hearing and vision. Really minuscule. They were concerned about my reflexes too, but they said that it could easily be related to the vision problems. It's nothing I was able to notice on my own though.”

He sees just fine, thank you very much. If he turns around now, he'd see Jack’s bruised and swollen left hand that he refuses to talk about. Shawn bits his lip. “I swear, I didn't notice a thing. I still don't. Only when someone points it out to me.”

“That's good!” Jacobson gives them all an encouraging smile. “It means your symptoms aren't advanced enough to affect your lifestyle. Some tumors grow for years while going undetected, so it's good that you picked up on this so quickly. In your case, you only noticed your headaches.”

“Yeah, they were kinda hard to ignore,” Shawn admits. “At first I tried to explain them away by saying that I was busy with work, but it's never been that way before.”

“Good,” the doctor nods again. “People tend to ignore their symptoms until they start to pile up. You were right to be concerned. This happened after you passed out at your apartment last week?”

“You passed out?”

Crap. Shawn bits his lip again, harder this time, until he tastes blood. Jack didn't know about that either. His brother sounds so overwhelmed and exhausted by all of this new information. At least Cory and Topanga had a little bit of preparation. Shawn feels like he just picked up a toddler and threw him in the deepest part of a swimming pool, telling him to tread water.

“Yeah, it was a particularly bad migraine. I don't think I helped it when I stood up too suddenly.” He's actually beginning to think that his chair might snap underneath Jack's grip. “It was more of a black-out, really. I stood up from the couch and then I woke up back on the couch. I didn't hit my head or anything.”

“Thank God for small miracles.” Jack mutters under his breath.

“Sit down,” Shawn whispers, gesturing with his free hand to the chair by Cory. It's a pointless request. He knows even before he says it that Jack won't listen.

“What's next?” Topanga asks swiftly, trying to move the conversation along. And Shawn loves her for it. “I mean, we all know about the tumor, right? What exactly does the surgery entail?”

Shawn's stomach turns. Maybe he doesn't want to conversation to move along at all. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, breathing in and out slowly to ease the dizzying panic that's setting in. He's always hated the doctors. He feels Jack's hand settle on his shoulder, the pressure so much lighter than he felt on the chair, but there all the same.

“Well, we want to remove the tumor and of course that requires surgery,” Doctor Jacobson begins to explain. “Shawn will be conscious for part of it so-”

“Wait a minute, what?” Shawn starts at the sudden loudness of Cory's voice right next to him. “Conscious while you're cutting into his brain to take a ping pong ball out? You're joking, right? How is that possible?”

“He won't feel anything!” Jacobson assures quickly. “But we'll be asking hm a series of questions during the beginning of the procedure to ensure that everything is running smoothly.”

“What kind of questions?” Cory demands sharply. “And what do they have anything to do with the surgery going smoothly?”

“General questions like what his name is, simple math problems, and simple conversation.” The doctor presses his fingertips together, blinking passively at them. His voice, in contrast to Cory's, is as quiet and patient as ever. “Since we're dealing with the brain, we’ll want to be extraordinarily cautious.”

Topanga snatches her hand away from Shawn. “Is surgery the only option?” she asks in her lawyer tone. “What about radiation to shrink the tumor? I've been reading up on brain tumors and alternative ways of-”

“Topanga, don't be stupid,” Jack cuts her off. “They can't perform a biopsy on something they've zapped into nothingness. And I don't like the idea of radiation. We're hoping he doesn't have cancer, not trying to give it to him.”

“Shut up, Jack. Don't call my wife stupid, especially if you don't know what's best for Shawn any more than she does.”

“Oh, and you do?”

“Cory. Jack. Shut up, please.”

“Your wife is the one who has evidently been surfing WEB MD.”

“Please, like you haven't?”

“Shut up!”

Shawn stands up so quickly that he almost sends his chair toppling. Because life decides to leave him with one last shred of dignity, he stays perfectly steady even though three pairs of arms reach out for him automatically. He shakes all of them off, trying to contain his emotions and get his point across. Deep breath, he reminds himself. And go.

“Listen. The only one in this room who knows what's going on is Doctor Jacobson and even he says that we'll have to wait and see what the results show us. But it's not going to do any good if you're all at each other's throats like this. We're not getting anywhere with your arguing and I would really appreciate it if you all stopped talking about me like I wasn't even here. I'm here. Talk to me. Or better yet, just shut up and let Doctor Jacobson talk.”

“But Shawn-”

“No. Time out, Cory. I'm so thankful you're here, please know that. I need you guys here. But I don't need you all pretending that I don't exist for your convenience. We don't even know if this is really serious yet and we're all handling this badly. The surgery might just be the beginning, then what are we going to do? What if I have-”

“Shawn, don't-”

“Cancer, Cory.” Shawn sighs wearily, sinking back into his chair. “It's not a dirty word. We might have to get used to using it, so why not start now?”

Cory looks stricken and Topanga might be crying. Jack is sitting down now, head in his hands. Shawn feels like the scum off of someone's shoe. So much for self control. “I'm. . . I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go off on any of you like that. Can. . . can we just please listen to Doctor Jacobson?”

With the three scolded and Shawn wishing he could take back every word, the room falls into a weighted silence. Silently, each resume their original post. Topanga takes his hand again, Jack is behind him, both hands on his shoulders this time, and Cory somehow more present than the other two combined even though there is no contact. Shawn doesn't know if their continued support after such a harsh outburst makes him feel better or worse. He just wishes Doctor Jacobson would speak again.

“We're sorry, Doctor. And Shawn,” Cory takes the reigns, his voice so calm and controlled that part of Shawn is left to briefly wonder if he had imagined the outburst only minutes before. “Start from where you left off. We're listening. All of us.”

Wish granted.

“With a tumor the size of Shawn's, surgery is our best move. Typically, the tumor will be removed and should there be any remnants afterwards, we'll likely be looking at radiation then.”

Shawn slumps a little bit in his seat, almost relieved that they're back on the train track to hell or wherever it is that they're going. Relived that it's the doctor who is speaking.

“How long will all of this take?” Cory asks. “The surgery, the biopsy, the radiation?”

It should be Shawn asking all of these questions. But aside from snapping at everyone to shut up, he's been very quiet. He wants to protest Cory doing the questioning for him, because he's an adult for crying out loud. But somehow he senses that it's helping his best friend, being able to say something. Anything.

“The surgery itself will take several hours, but as soon as the tumor is removed, we'll be looking at it. It's ideal that we accomplish everything as efficiently as possible, and we want to keep you waiting as little as we can. This is one of the hardest parts. The waiting. You have a lot of unanswered questions and it's difficult to move forward when we don't have those answers. It's an “if, then” sort of process.”

It's hard, Shawn acknowledges, for all of them to accept that the answers won't come right away. It's going to take time. A lot of it. It's beyond any of their control and they can't really be okay with that. But at the same time they kind of have to be. They have to relinquish control.

“For now, just try and relax,” Doctor Jacobson advises them. “I realize that's probably impossible, but try anyway. Stay away from the internet because that will drive you crazy. Don't sit around and talk through every single possibility because that will drive you crazy. Talk about what you know now, no matter how little it seems. Support one another. Hear one another. And then, let time take care of the rest. If you have any questions, I'm only a phone call away. But don't, I repeat, don't,” the doctor's eyes rest on Topanga, “look anything up yourself. There's a lot of scary stuff out there and you'll lose your minds with worry before we even begin. Worry about what you know.”

So easy to say, and so difficult to do. Shawn for one, is willing to try all the same. He nods. “Thanks, Doc. I really appreciate it.”

“We all do.” Topanga says, releasing Shawn's hand again to shake the doctor’s. “I hope you know that we all care about Shawn and that's why our emotions are running so high.” She gives him a genuine, thankful smile. “I believe he's in good hands with you.”

Doctor Jacobson nods, but he looks at Shawn when he speaks. “He's in very good hands and not just with us here at the hospital.”

Shawn is really fortunate. He knows it and as much as they might tell him he's somehow worthy of their love, he still struggles with it every now and then. It's part of who he is and how he grew up. But one thing he is finally starting to get the hang of is not questioning it despite of not understanding. Some things are too good to be true, but some things are true and real whether he deserves them or not. “I know,” he replies. Because what he knows is that the only way he can begin to repay anyone is by accepting them rather than refusing them.

There's nothing left to say for the time being, so they all follow Topanga's example and shake Jacobson’s hand, thanking him. Only a little bit more knowledgeable than they were before they stepped inside his office, they leave, trying to be content with what they learned. It's not nearly enough for any of them but it's a start.

Shawn rubs his forehead as they step out into the sunlight. “A little headache,” he admits when they all immediately whip their heads around to stare at him. “I'm fine.”

No one questions him any further, but Jack insists on going to get the car and Cory looks a little white around the lips like he's suddenly not breathing properly. Shawn sees Topanga reach down and give his hand a squeeze. He shoves away the feeling that he's a five year old boy incapable of taking care of himself. If he were in any of their shoes he would probably be the same way. Maybe even worse. His stomach twists at the thought. He's so grateful that this is the way it is. It's the only way he can bear it.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An info-heavy chapter. I know where I'm going with this (at least, I have a vague idea) so I had to get it out some way or another. As far as I'm aware of, everything is mostly in line and I promise to do my best to keep it all there. The next chapter will probably involve the rest of the Matthews and then it'll definitely move forward. I'm sorry if it's kind of crawling along, but I liked the idea of gradually introducing characters in their own brief chapters rather than include everyone in one or two longer chapters. Short and sweet. It's easier to write that way and keeps the inspiration flowing. 
> 
> Alas, I must now contribute to society in a more productive manner, but I appreciate all who are reading and hope you have a wonderful day!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some more facts about where show canon and certain characters are going to stand for me. Angela will not be making an appearance in THIS particular story. Should I write another, while they're still in high school or college for instance, I will include her. But I have this mental block of her in the GMW universe because of “that thing they did with her that we won't talk about”. And I hope that it doesn't make me a traitor for actually really liking Katy and Shawn. I'm not sure if they'll be love interests in this story. She'll make a couple of appearances here and there at the very least. I'm leaning towards keeping them platonic because I feel like this story is already very relationship heavy without adding romance to it (also, I suck at romance). For the sake of seriousness, Eric is going to be “normal” in this story. And hey, I'm putting together a sort of playlist that fit into Shawn and his relationships with Cory and the others. If anyone has any suggestions. . . I'm open!
> 
> Also, after this chapter I might split time between this story and a few other ideas I have for one-shots. We'll see how this turns out. :)

There’s something about seeing his mom cry that makes Eric feel like a five-year-old all over again. Helpless and way too small. His father’s voice is a low hum over in the next room, soothing in the chaotic world they've suddenly found themselves in. He concentrates, trying to drown out the noise of the tv in order to hear what they're talking about. Hoping, that if seeing his mom still scares him, then maybe his dad will chase those fears away.

“When do you think they'll be back?” Riley whispers. She's trying not to disturb her brother who is temporarily distracted by his cartoons. But she's just as fidgety as Eric which is another reason he's attempting to at least appear calm. Someone has to be the adult here, and numerically it's up to him.

“Soon. Probably. Maybe. I don't know.”

Riley sighs and slumps into the couch, her head on his shoulder. “I’m scared,” she says so quietly that he can hardly hear her.

Eric gently drapes his arm over her shoulders and draws her closer. “I know.” He's scared too. They all are. But more than anything, Eric is angry. No. He's furious. More than he's ever been in his entire life. The rage is a fire burning in his chest that he can just barely contain.

It's not fair. Shawn was dealt one of the most unfair hands life decided to hand out to anyone. Time and time again, Eric watched his little brother’s best friend get knocked off his feet and kicked while he was down. His father leaving him in favor of chasing a woman who never loved him like Shawn did. Almost losing Mr. Turner. Finding out that he never knew his real mother. Angela leaving. Every single time he got back up, it seemed like life was there with another blow, just waiting. Everything had been going smoothly for Shawn that, Eric wonders grimly, if they should have seen something like this coming. Is this life making up for lost time?

It's not just unfair for Shawn, but for everyone who loves him too. Particularly Jack and Cory. Eric decides that, aside from Shawn himself, he's mostly angry on the behalf of his best friend and his little brother. Shawn's brothers, really. Jack, related by blood, and Cory related by some kind of bond that no one could explain. Not even Cory and Shawn.

Eric was there to watch Shawn struggle, and he was there to watch Cory and Jack watch him too. It was painful. Excruciating. The way Jack would try his best to guide his brother to safety, kept his composure for as long as it took, and then fell apart when Shawn wasn't there to see him. He once confessed to Eric that Shawn scared him when he got self-destructive like he so often did. He had been thrust rather abruptly into his brother’s life and found himself trying to be his brother, and his friend, and his father, all at once.

And Cory. Cory who, unlike poor Jack, never questioned his role in Shawn's life. Cory, the one constant in Shawn's life. The unyielding, unshakable rock that Shawn needed. The one who always manages to save him. Even when they were just twelve years old.

Now what? Eric wonders. What are they going to do now? What can they do? Cory's carefully maintained control over Shawn's well being has been ripped violently from his hands, and even level headed Jack has already broken his hand from punching a brick wall.

Auggie looks back at him and Eric realizes that he's been tapping lightly at his knee. “Sorry, buddy.”

“Uncle Eric?”

“Yeah, Auggie?”

Auggie is too young for this. Riley is too young for this. Good grief, Maya is too young and too reliant on Shawn's influence in her life right now. She's too young anyway, but her connection with him makes her especially vulnerable.

She's been here for three hours and she still hasn't said one word. Her closed off behavior, despite Riley's numerous attempts to get her attention, is eerily similar to Shawn's at that age.

“Uncle Eric?”

Eric blinks Auggie back into focus. Maya, on the other side of the couch, fades away a little bit. “Sorry, I didn't hear you. What did you say?”

“Is Uncle Shawn going to come home with everybody else? Or is he gonna stay like when Riley had to get her appendix out?” August blinks up at him, dark eyes wide with innocence. At six, he's still young enough to be districted with a Popsicle and some cartoons, but he's not completely oblivious. Riley told him that he cried himself to sleep the night before, but that was mostly because everyone else was falling apart. He isn't old enough to grasp the how serious it all is. So, if they work at it, they can protect him for a little while longer.

Auggie is also still small enough for Eric to pick him up and sit him on his lap. “He is sick, Auggie. But the doctors are super smart and they're going to try as hard as they can to make him all better. And he'll be home any minute not with Mom and Dad. And Uncle Jack too! He'll be staying for a little while just until Uncle Shawn feels better.”

“When will that happen? When will he feel better?”

It's not just Auggie who looks at him then. Riley and Maya are watching him closely, old enough to know better, young enough to hope. Eric struggles to keep a smile on his face. He can't lie to them, he can't sugarcoat anything, but he can keep their hope alive and well. “Soon hopefully. Your Uncle Shawn is probably the toughest guy I know.”

He watches Riley take Maya’s hand, tugging the other girl’s arms away from their locked position across her chest. “Uncle Eric is right,” she says decisively, and Eric's smile turns genuine because that's the Riley he knows. He sees so much of his brother in her. Like Shawn said, she's Cory with Topanga's hair. “Besides, there's no reason to automatically assume the worst and get all freaked out.”

Maya stays quiet and that's unnerving. Part of him will always be convinced that she's actually Shawn's daughter because if Riley mirrors Cory as a middle schooler, then she mirrors his other half.

He wants to say something to her, but then they all hear a key fitting into the lock and jump to attention. Out of the corner of his eye, Eric sees his mother and father Coke rushing in and he pretends he doesn't notice how obvious it is that his mom has been crying.

Cory and Topanga walk in, hand in hand, followed closely by Shawn and Jack, who is practically tripping over his brother. Shawn sees them all staring at him and looks for a second like he wants to curl up inside of himself. Instead, he stops and clasps a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “We got Jack's hand fixed while we were out!” he exclaims cheerfully.

He's desperately trying to deflect some of the attention off of himself and Eric goes along with it. “Jack!” he approaches his best friend with a grin. “Looking good, buddy! Did you let Shawn pick out the color for that brace?”

Jack's smile is thin and wavering. “Yup. I always thought pink was my color. I was a little nervous at first, but then Shawn graciously pointed out how since it was only a brace so it was nice and small. Subtle.”

He's rambling a little. Eric puts his hand on his other shoulder. “And to think I always have Shawn a hard time about his sense of style. Sorry about that, man.”

Shawn smiles at him gratefully. “Hey. What can I say? I learned from the best.”

“So what did they say?” Maya interrupts abruptly. Her arms are folded over her chest again, like she's physically trying to hold herself together.

Shawn walks over to her, putting an arm over her shoulders. Though he's speaking to all of them, he's looking directly at her. “Not much more than they already have,” he says. “There's not much to say until they know more. And there's not much to know until the surgery.”

Maya flinches visibly, but she also looks more relaxed. It's the way Shawn speaks to her. Looking her in the eye, keeping it short and simple. She's Riley's age, but she's had to grow up a little too fast in some respects, and Shawn can understand that better than anyone else. He knows what she needs. “Okay.” She can't take her eyes off of him.

“So.” Shawn drops his arm from Maya's shoulders and claps his hands together once. When Maya immediately reached down to hold one hand, he doesn't pull away. “I already flipped out on these three once,” he gesture to Cory, Topanga, and Jack. “and I don't want to do it again.”

“What do you need, Shawn?” Alan Matthews asks, his voice calm and steady.

“Before I say anything else, I want to thank you all.” Shawn squeezes Maya’s hand, glancing at each and every one of them before his eyes come to rest on his brother. “I wish we could all be together again under different circumstances, but it's still really great seeing everyone again. I'm not going to ignore how good it feels even if the reason kinda sucks.”

Kinda. Eric hears Jack snort, but it's more of a half-laugh, half-sob, followed quickly by a throat clearing. “I told you not to be so dramatic,” he says in a raspy voice. He clears his throat again, but doesn't try to speak again. His eyes look suspiciously bright.

“Sorry.” Shawn apologizes. Leave it to Shawn to apologize for having a brain tumor, Eric thinks. “Umm. But I just want you all to know how thankful I am that you're here with me no matter what. I know it took me this long to get that through my head, but I promise I'm going to do my best to accept it all without questioning it. I promise. I'll try to make it as easy as possible for all of you.”

It's heartbreaking to hear him make this promise, because they all know that a part of Shawn will always try to bring himself down in any way possible. There will always be a nagging doubt, a lack of self-worth. He handles it so much better now, opening up to them and allowing them to get close, but Eric knows that there's always a chance of him backing up, shutting down. He saw it when they first walked through the door.

“How can we make it as easy as possible for you then?”

“Just,” Shawn glances at his feet, and reaches up with his free hand to rub the back of his head. Absentmindedly, he swings the hand that holds Maya's back and forth. It's stupid cute, Eric finds himself thinking. He likes that even now, he can find comfort in something like this. He wants to film it so he can shove it in Shawn's face next time he claims he'd make a terrible dad.

“I just need you to not walk on eggshells around me. Don't handle me with kid gloves. Don't talk about me like I'm not there if I actually am.” Shawn is looking at Cory and Topanga and Jack as if they've already had this conversation before only not in such a collected manner. “I don't want to dance around anything. I want it to be real. Because it is.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Mrs. Matthews gives him a hug, rubbing his back gently. “If you promise to let us help you in every way we can, then we'll do everything we can to keep that promise.” She steps back, holding Shawn's face between her hands for a second or two before giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Absolutely,” her husband echoes. “We love you, buddy. Always remember that.”

“I know.” Shawn tries to smile. “I really do. I love you too. All of you.”

Riley appears at his other side. “Group hug if you love us so much?” she whispers hopefully.

Shawn doesn't reply, but he turns to hug her tightly. And he doesn't protest when everyone else joins in. Eric almost wants him to. To say that group hugs are the lamest thing in existence. To get embarrassed and uncomfortable. But he doesn't.

When they all step away, Maya is once more holding tightly to his hand, and Amy is inviting them all to the dinner table. “You all have to be hungry,” she insists when she's met with some reluctance. “And Shawn isn't the only one who is going to need to keep up his strength.”

“The wife is right,” Alan says, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “C’mon, everyone. She even made brownies for dessert.”

There's an over-enthusiastic reaction to the brownies from Topanga and a genuine one from Auggie, and everyone heads over to the dining area. Eric hangs back, catching both Cory and Jack by the arm.

He looks at them; his brother and best friend. The two people closest to Shawn and the two people who love him the most. One of them has a broken hand and the other is just broken. “How can I help you guys?” he asks softly.

“I don't need anything,” Cory says flatly as Jack shakes his head. “I mean, I do need something. I need Shawn to be okay. But no one can really give me that. I just. . . need to wait.”

“Cory-”

Cory shrugs off his well-intentioned hand. He looks back towards the dining room where they can hear everyone laughing really forced laughs. “It's not about me, Eric.”

“It needs to be about you a little, if you're going to take care of Shawn. You're his best friend, Cory. And you're his brother, Jack. This is really hard on all of us, but I know it's hitting you two the hardest.” Eric looks at them pleadingly. “I just want you both to know that it's okay if you can't be strong the whole time.” He doesn't get a reply from Cory, so he looks at Jack who has yet to say anything. “Jack?”

Jack has his arms crossed like Maya earlier and is staring stoically at his shoes. “I need to be as strong as I can, for as long as I can.” His voice breaks when he tells this to Eric and he won't look at him. “And when I can't be strong anymore, I just need to make sure Shawn can't see me.”

That's a terrible idea. Eric doesn't say it, but it's one of the worst ideas he's ever heard. It's the kind of idea that Shawn would have and Jack would tell him it's stupid. Hypocrite.

“All right,” Eric says against his better judgement. “I'll be there then. Just promise me you won't punch another wall.” He makes it sound like a joke, but he means it. Hot pink or not, the brace on Jack's hand makes him feel sick to his stomach.

Jack's smile is completely fake. There's no hiding it. But he's backing away from Eric and Cory, withdrawing from the conversation. “No more punching walls,” he agrees quietly. “I'm going to go get something to eat now.”

Eric lets him go and then turns to Cory who, fortunately, hasn't moved. “Bro?”

Cory is fiddling with the leather watch around his wrist. It's the watch Shawn gave him last year for Christmas, saying “for real this time”, referencing something between the two of them. He and Cory both got a good chuckle out of it, but did nothing to assuage the curiosity of the others. Eric is about to try again when he finally speaks up.

“I'm scared, Eric.”

“Cory. . .”

“I've never been so scared in my entire life. I feel like everything I've done, everything we've done to protect Shawn, has just blown up in our faces. And I'm angry because I feel like all the hard work, all the hell Shawn though, to get as happy as he is now, has blown up in his face.”

“I know.” Eric steps closer and pulls Cory into his arms, relieved when he doesn't pull away.  
  
“I feel helpless because there's nothing I can do this time.”

“No one can do anything,” Eric says, hoping it makes Cory feel better instead of worse. “It's not just you, Cor.”

Cory pulls away. “Eric, there have been so many times when no one else could help Shawn but me. You know what that's like. I don't.”

He doesn't mean anything by it. There's no sting in the words. Besides, he has a point. Eric has been helpless before when it came to Shawn. He's very familiar with what it's like. Not to this degree, but he at least has an idea. This is the very first time, Cory has been presented with a problem in regards to Shawn only to have absolutely no answer.

“Eric,” Cory whispers, his voice breaking. “What do you do when there's nothing you can do?”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy Meets World has so many beautifully written relationships. And I love taking those relationships, putting them in a terrible position, and expanding on them. Stretching them to their breaking points. Exploring the worst and the best and everything in between. 
> 
> I feel like Cory and Jack would have the hardest time with something like this and I love the idea of Eric being the one to acknowledge that. Everyone else is worried and focused on Shawn, and Eric is too, don't get me wrong. But he sees more. I might be taking some creative liberty, especially since he's such a goofball on the show. But I don't think it's that much of a stretch. 
> 
> On an unrelated note, this time change is a killer. The good news is that I'm so tired that I'm actually sleeping, so it's broken me out of my most recent bout of insomnia. The bad news is that I'm still tired haha. Anyone have the same struggle?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't include any warnings for this story, but I want to put it out there that this particular chapter includes a panic attack. I've struggled with anxiety and tried my best to put into words what happens to me sometimes. 
> 
> On a cheerier note, I really wish that Boy Meets World wasn't such an older fandom. I would love to talk to someone about it. Not just talk but also cry over how much Cory loves Shawn and how beautifully that is portrayed. I love them so much and even though I'm about two decades late to the party, I'm glad I found my way all the same.

  
Shawn feels empty and filled to the brim all at the same time. All of his thoughts are running circles in his brain, never meeting up or connecting with others. And each and every one of them is a voice screaming to be heard above the ensuing chaos until it all turns into a roaring white noise.

(Calm down)

(You can’t let them see you like this)

(The doctor said it’s a routine surgery)

(There’s nothing routine about brain surgery)

(Don’t let them see)

He’s never liked anything to do with doctors. Never liked needles. Always hated the cold, sterile feel of hospitals where antiseptic burns his nose and makes his eyes water. The white walls and ceilings and even floors too bright. The well-meaning doctors and nurses  
who did “everything” they could, only to have “everything” just not be enough. Even worse than those well-meaning doctors and nurses, the people waiting.

They all look the same and so Shawn lets them fall into these categories he’s created. The pacers, the criers, the ones who hold their heads in their hands, the ones who cross their arms over their chests, the ones who pray. The ones who argue and the ones who hold hands, the ones who sit in complete silence, the one who talk about what’s happening, and the ones who talk about everything but what’s happening. He and Jack were the ones who argued.

Shawn doesn't like hospitals for a lot of reasons. But mostly because his dad died in one. And he and his brother fought. It was so long ago, but it brings a tidal wave of awful memories that he can only try to shove away. To make matters even worse, he knows Jack is thinking along the same lines.

(Would Dad show up now if he were alive today?)

The thought catches Shawn off guard and he starts visibly, getting Jack's attention. “I'm fine,” he says softly, but his voice sounds weak even to his own ears.

“We did everything we could.”

He hears the words in his head as clearly as if it's happening all over again. As if the doctor is standing right in front of him, his words soaked in regret. Jack's sharp intake of breath and the heaviness that settles instantly on his heart. The feeling of loss.

He feel like he’s barely tethered to reality, sights and sounds around him zooming in and out of focus until he thinks he’s going to throw up. It's too quiet and loud all at once.

“Shawn?”

Shawn feels like he's drowning. His chest hurts so badly that he stupidly wants to cry about it. What is wrong with him? Stupid, worthless, child. His heart is doing obnoxious things like pounding really hard and fast and then skipping a beat. At least that's what it feels like.

He notices that his hands are shaking and he places them in his lap, glancing down at the white blanket covering him. In a few minutes now, he goes into surgery so they have him all prepped and everything. Hospital bed. Hospital gown, IV. . .

(Stupid needle)

“Shawn, are you okay, buddy?”

No. No, he's not okay. He's the furthest possible thing from okay. There's no point in denying it now, but when he opens his mouth to speak, nothing actually comes out but a kind of choked gasp for air.

“Shawn. Bro.”

A gentle hand settles on his shoulder, but it feels heavy. Too heavy. Dragging him down and holding him still. Shawn feels everything and it's all suddenly too much. He shrugs the hand away, pushes the blanket off his lap, and fiddles pointlessly with the IV.

(It's stuck there. It's not coming out. It's stuck. Stuck. Can't move)

“Shawn, what's wrong?”

Jack definitely sounds alarmed now, but Shawn still can't make his make his vocal chords obey his screaming conscious.

He. Can't. Breathe. It feels like walking down stairs and missing a step. For one instant, there's a sense of free falling. Except, that one instant is quickly turning into an endless cycle. Falling. Falling. He can't stop falling.

He's fought his entire life to not end up like his father.

“Shawn, please. Just talk to me.”

He shakes his head violently. Suffocating. He's suffocating. Everything is so close and far away. Loud and quiet. He's empty and full. Frozen and shaking. It's all happening at once and he can't pause it or even slow it down.

He hates it. Hates this stupid hospital and the stupid needle in his arm that's holding him there, keeping him from leaving. Shawn's stomach lurches and he leans over the side of his bed, dry heaving.

When he leans back, a pair of hands is there, grabbing and supporting his shoulders to make sure he lays down gently. Shawn knows the hands are safe, way deep down he knows this. But everything is surface tension now and he's breaking.

Here he is, in a hospital bed, just like his dad. About to go into surgery, just like his dad. Finally where he's supposed to be life, and now this.

“Shawn! Look at me!”

Not Jack's voice. The hands are holding his face now. Shawn tries to reach up and tear them away, but his limbs are like jelly and his arms stay useless and limp in his lap.

Two different voices and he can no longer distinguish them or recognize them. Shawn wants them to stop because it's creating a giant buzz that makes his head feel like it's just going to explode.

He just wants his heart to stop beating like this. It hurts so much. The worst pain he's ever felt. Sharp and stabbing, it holds him in an iron grip and like a small child he just wants to cry.

Something goes all the way around him and he can't even try to fight it. He squeezes his eyes shut, black spots already swarming in his vision and making it almost impossible to see.

He never told anyone, not even Cory, but there was a brief period after his dad died, when Shawn was afraid of the dark. He never told anyone (Cory) because he could never explain it. He was sure that when the lights came back on, he would find himself alone. But wouldn't that have made him afraid of the light? No. Because during the day, and at night if he left the light on, he could get by as long as he could see. He could believe that everything was real. That he was real. When the darkness drew near, he was never sure what to think. Except that everything he saw in the light could easily disappear and he'd never know it.

He doesn't want to be like his dad.

The falling sensation hits him over and over again and it's dark enough that Shawn thinks he might be falling down a deep, black hole, with no end. And if it does have an end, he just knows he'll be all alone at the bottom. He tries to uncurl his fingers from the fists they've clenched themselves into, but whatever is holding him is holding him so tightly that he can hardly move a muscle.

Is this what dying is like? Is this what his dad felt?

“Shawn. . . here. . .”

Dimly, the never ending stream of noisy static is interrupted by his name and another word. There might be others, but Shawn can only catch and hold onto the two. He opens his mouth again and there are still no words, but at last, a tiny gasp of air gets out.

Shawn tries to breathe in, succeeding only a little bit, but it's better than nothing. His collapsed lungs unfold a pinch and he tries to fill them in as much as possible. He feels a rush in his head, like air is something you can actually get high on. His descent into the black hole doesn't stop, but it slows.

“. . . gonna be. . . breathe. . . you.”

More words. The voice sounds a little familiar.

(If only breathing was so simple.)

He remembers when his dad stopped breathing.

“. . . okay, Shawnie. I'm. . . here.”

(Shawnie.)

He doesn't want to die. Not like this. Not like his dad. Not before he's had a chance to fight. He doesn't want to leave everyone behind like this.

“Shawn, you're okay. Just breathe.”

He knows that voice. Shawn knows that voice and out of obedient habit, his lungs fill with air that he almost chokes on.

“Easy! Slow and steady. With me.”

Shawn almost falls over when the grip that's holding him so tightly suddenly disappears. He would have fallen, but something, or rather someone, holds him steady. He blinks, the world still unbelievably blurry.

“In and out, Shawn. In and out. With me, c’mon.”

The voice is laced in desperation and Shawn sluggishly tries to obey, listening as hard as he can to the instructions.

In and out.

He blinks again, finding some success this time. A familiar face zooms in and out of focus, but Shawn catches a glimpse. Cory, his face taut with worry.

“Cor-”

“Shhh, it's okay. Don't try to talk right now. Just breathe. Shhhh.”

It's amazing what he can do if Cory asks him to. Shawn chokes, a sob bubbling out of his chest, but he manages to finally, finally take one deep breath and let it out. His descent stops because someone catches him and pulls him up and out of the hole.

“That's it!” Cory exclaims, his voice filled with the kind of wonder and encouragement one uses when a baby takes its first steps. “That's great, Shawn! Do it again for me.”

In and out.

“You're doing great, buddy. Just keep doing that.”

In and out.

(Who knew breathing could be so much work?)

In and out.

“You're okay, Shawn. We've got you.”

(We?)

Shawn struggles to get his oxygen depleted brain back into gear and looks up, catching sight of another person just behind Cory.

Oh.

He reaches up, finds Cory's hand on his shoulder and grips it hard. “What. . . what?”

“You had a panic attack,” Cory explains shakily. “But you're okay now.” His free hand, the one that Shawn isn't crushing, slides off his friend’s shoulder and beckons to the figure behind him. “Just keep breathing,” he says, addressing Shawn.

Jack looks like he's aged ten years. He's as white as everything in this stupid hospital. Way too pale. He comes from behind Cory to stand next to him. He looks like the last thing he should be doing right now is standing. Shaking all over. And his eyes are red. He's crying. The last time he saw Jack like this was just after they had been told their dad had died.

In. “Jack.” Out. “Cory.”

“We're here, Shawn.” Jack tries to smile but his lips won't cooperate.

He still can't stop shaking, but at least he can breathe again. Shawn takes another deep breath, letting air fill his lungs slowly. When he lets it out again, the pressure on his chest starts to ease. He licks his dry lips. “I'm sorry.”

Shakily, Jack sits at the edge of the hospital bed and hugs him. “You scared the hell out of me,” he whispers.

Shawn can feel Jack's heart hammering in his chest and he fights back a residual wave of panic that makes his heart want to do the same. “I'm sorry,” he repeats, a lump rising in his throat. If Jack can be honest, then so can he. “I thought of Dad.”

Another sob catches in Jack's throat and he holds Shawn a little bit tighter.

That's when Shawn knows he wasn't the only one thinking of their father. He probably wasn't the only one thinking that he was dying like him either. He finally gains enough control of his limbs to hug Jack back.

He's completely spent. Shawn doesn't think he's ever felt so weak. He's leans into Jack more than actually hugging him, which his brother doesn't seem to mind. Just as long as he has something to hold onto.

“It's going to be okay,” Jack says so full of determination that it's impossible not to believe him. “It has to be.”

“Here,” Cory gently nudges Shawn's shoulder and hands him a paper cup filled with water. “Take a drink.”

He obeys. Shawn is proud of himself for being able to keep his hands steady enough to drink without help. He studies Cory and Jack intently from over the top of the cup.

Cory has a hand on Jack's shoulder. Thank God for Cory, Shawn thinks. Cory, the glue that always holds everyone together. Cory, the rock. Cory, who isn't afraid of anything.

Except, he looks pretty freaked out right now. He's doing his best to hide it, but behind the steady shield of calm, Shawn can see the panic in his friend’s eyes. He offers his best smile, cringing when it turns out to be just a lame attempt. “Doing okay, Cor?”

Cory opens his mouth to answer, but just then there's a knock at the door. They all freeze, staring at each other and Shawn sees Cory's knuckles turn white on Jack's shoulder. He licks his dry lips and calls out. “Come in.”

Doctor Jacobsen, followed by two more, younger looking doctors, enter the room. “How are we feeling, Shawn?” He frowns, taking in the haggard faces around him. “Something wrong?”

Ha.

“Just last minute anxieties,” Shawn says smoothly. His chest is tight again, but this time he slams the lid on the panic trying to escape. In and out. Breathe.

Because he doesn't know them well enough, Doctor Jacobsen buys it. He smiles gently. “Ready?”

No. “Yes.” Shawn tries his best to give Cory and Jack another smile. “See you on the other side?”

Jack looks like he's one step away from having a panic attack himself. Like Cory's hand on his shoulder is all that's keeping him from falling apart. Shawn knows the feeling.

“Love you, Shawnie,” Cory's voice is strong and steady, a direct contrast to Jack. “See you soon.” Shawn finds himself wondering which one of them will fall apart first and he hates it. Cory might have everyone, even Jack maybe, fooled, but not Shawn. His calmness is soothing, but it's an act all the same.

“We'll keep you updated,” one of the other doctors tells them. She looks all of twenty, but Shawn tries not to think about it. Doctor Jacobsen assured them countless times that he has one of the most capable teams in the country.

They're surrounding him now, unintentionally shoving Cory and Jack away. Shawn watches, as the baby doctor readies the bed to be moved. Rails go up. Mattress goes down. He finds himself staring up at the ceiling and has to fight to stay calm because now he can't tell exactly what's going on.

The bed jerks to a start, wheels squeaking. Reflexes propel his arm out to the side where it finds a wrist. Cory. Shawn sighs in relief when his friend’s face appears above him in his skewed field of vision. Cory squeezes his hand and pats his arm. “We'll be waiting,” he promises softly. “We'll be there.”

Shawn swallows hard and turns his head, locating Jack. “So will I,” he throws the promise back at them like a life preserver that they can hang onto. “Thanks.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was okay. That's genuinely what panic attacks are like for me and writing about them is fairly simple, but it's more difficult to write the whole “coming out of the fog” part, if you will allow me to call it that. I try to do all my panicking in private so I'm just hoping that the dialogue works well enough. 
> 
> I am currently working on another story, though much shorter. One and done. It's a series of six one-shots actually, but all uploaded at one time because they're all very brief. As I write those note, I have about two-sixths finished and I know where I'm going the rest of the way. Don't quote me, but I'm hoping for a Friday night update? Fingers crossed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaack! And I just noticed that this section already has a little header that dedicates it as the author’s space to blab about boring stuff. Sorry! I'll fix a few necessary things next time I'm able to get on my laptop. In the meantime, I actually have nothing else to say. That's good, right? Carry on.

Jack hates waiting rooms. They feel like a trap to him. He can't move or speak. Fear has frozen him in place, paralyzing him and robbing him of the ability to speak. Time slows down. It limps along painfully slow, crawling towards an unseen finish line. He feels disconnected from the rest of the world. Things are still happening. People are talking, sometimes talking to him, but their voices sound far away and their words are indistinguishable from the other sounds around him.

His mom had a snow globe collection when he was little. Jack used to be fascinated with it. All the tiny globes containing whole entire worlds within the glass. Turn them upside down and shake them and glistening white snow would make everything impossible to see until it settled on the sceneries.

Jack would stare at the tiny people, wondering if they were real. If they had thoughts and feelings. If the world inside the globe was all the world they would ever know, or if they were aware of just how trapped they were. If they were content or terrified. He'd turn them upside down and give them a shake, wondering if it was like an earthquake.

He feels like he's in a snow globe now. Like his world has been turned upside down and given a tremendous shake. And there's a terrifying storm that just keeps burying him under a heavy blanket of cold terror that he can't shake off. Jack feels isolated. Looking from the inside out, screaming to be heard. Screaming for help. But he's just so alone.

“Jack?”

He shakes his head. “I don't know what to say.”

“Just say something,” Cory pleads. “Say anything.”

“When I was eight I almost drowned.”

He watches as Cory jerks back a little, caught off guard by the morbid topic. But in true Cory fashion, he recovers quickly and just nods. “Okay.” He says, waiting for Jack to go on.

Jack takes a deep breath because almost thirty years later the story drags back unwanted memories. “My friend Brad and I were playing pirates on my dad’s sailboat. We weren't supposed to be anywhere near the thing when he wasn't with us, but no one was around to catch us and get us in trouble. Honestly, I think the reason we were doing it was because it felt like this big risky thrill.”

Cory kinda smiles and Jack knows that the thought of a spoiled rich little version of himself disobeying his stepfather’s orders had to be pretty amusing. Shawn would probably get a kick of of the idea too.

“Anyway, long story short, I slipped on the deck and fell overboard. I smacked my head on the railing just hard enough to make me really disoriented.” Jack drops his gaze from Cory and stares at the floor. “I couldn't tell which way was up or down. My stepfather had told me so many times that if I ever fell into the water to blow bubbles because they'd float upwards. But I was panicking and couldn't remember that.”

“We had thrown some fishing line over, pretending to fish because I guess that's what we thought pirates did. I got tangled up in it and it wasn't bad enough to hold me down or anything, but it was enough to freak me out even more. I couldn't tell what was holding me and for all I knew it was some kind of sea monster. That's how clearly I was thinking at that point.”

Cory's smile is gone, and Jack regrets telling this story because it's obviously not helping anything, but he can't get himself to shut up or change the subject. He folds his hands together in an effort to stop them from shaking. “That sounds terrifying,” he hears Cory say, and he just nods.

“I couldn't breathe obviously and I was so freaked out by that. I knew that if I tried to breathe, I would just swallow a bunch of lake water and probably die. I didn't want to die. Breathing was supposed to keep me alive, not kill me.”

“And it hurt.” Jack touches a hand to his chest. “It was the worst pain I had ever felt and that was after I had broken my wrist falling out of a tree the year before. It felt like something was squeezing my chest and that my heart was just going to wind up exploding. I was sure that I was going to have a heart attack.”

He still has nightmares about it sometimes. He's not about to tell Cory that, and they happen so rarely these days that there's really no point. But every once in a great, long while, he wakes up in the middle of the night gasping for air, tears in his eyes and a stabbing pain in his chest.

He had one last night. The first time in. . . two years?

“Everyone tells you to stay calm in a situation like that, but all I could think of was that I was dying because I had been stupid enough to disobey my stepfather. I swore to myself that if I could somehow make it out alive I would never break another rule again.”

Which worked pretty well until he met Eric and everyone else. Mostly Eric. Jack smiles in spite of himself.

“Brad saved my life. He jumped in with the life preserver and pulled me up.” It still stuns him that his friend had been thinking so clearly while he had been unable to think about anything at all other than dying. Had the roles been reversed, Jack would have probably ran for help and he's not sure if he would have returned in time. If he has any major regret in regards to his childhood it's not keeping in contact with Brad.

Jack studies a faint coffee stain on the floor between his feet. He can sense Cory leaning in closer, hanging onto every single word. “It was the worst feeling ever, Cory. I just wanted to breathe. Something so simple and natural. But I couldn't. And. . .” Jack clenches his hands into fists. “I never wanted to feel like that again.”

“I have nightmares,” he confesses, surprising even himself. So much for keeping that part in the dark. “Not as much as I used to. I think they mostly happen when I'm worried about something. Like an anxiety dream. They get triggered when I- when something-"

Cory's hand is suddenly on his wrist, holding it in a strong grip of silent support. Jack takes a deep breath, reminding himself that it's something he can do. “I used to think they were the worst because I'd wake up gasping for air and feel stupid. I'm an adult now and I can't get myself together?”

“Nightmares aren't just for little kids,” Cory says so quietly that Jack can barely hear him. And that's when he knows he's not alone.

“Today. . . Today was like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.” Jack thinks of Shawn, doubled over and gasping for breath, turning ashen from the effort. “It still is. It's so much worse.”

Cory had walked in on them when Shawn was like that and the first thing he said was, “He's having a panic attack.” and Jack, who up until that point thought that the tumor had exploded in his brain and was killing him so much faster than they had thought possible, could only stare at him.

But Cory had set everything right as was tradition. He had kept calm and levelheaded even as Shawn continued to panic, oblivious to his efforts to comfort him. One of them had to stay together and it absolutely had not been Shawn.

“It's okay,” Cory whispered. “He's okay.” All of which seemed absurd since Shawn was currently having someone slice into his skull. Jack swallowed a wave of nausea and just nodded, wordlessly. Cory added, “I know,” with such conviction that it amazed him.

“How?” Jack questions in a broken whisper. “How can you know that it's going to be okay?”

Cory doesn't answer right away. He stares at the wall opposite them, but it's clear that he's somewhere else entirely. Lost deep in his thoughts. His memories. Absentmindedly, he starts twisting the wedding band on his finger and even Jack knows that this is a nervous habit of his.

“Because,” Cory finally speaks but it hardly sounds like him. It unnerves Jack. “He has to be.”

Jack is a full grown adult but the level of disappointment he feels now is so crushing that it makes him feel like a child all over again. He stares at Cory, mouth hanging open slightly. That's when he knows. The truth. And it's enough to shatter his world all over again. The broken pieces so carefully picked up and put together by Cory are smashed again into even tinier pieces and this time, Jack isn't sure they'll ever be together again. This time, maybe even Humpty Dumpty is going to stay broken. Not even Cory can fix him.

It's when Jack learns that Cory's assurance is really just an ugly mask for his denial.

* * *

 

The hours pass slowly. People trickle in and out, offer words of comfort and cups of coffee. Topanga stops by to hold his hand before she has to pick the kids up from school. Eric comes and sits between Cory and Jack as if he's the glue that keeps them from splitting apart. Maybe he is.

Cory's parents stay for only a short while because he asks them to leave when all his mother does is cry. He feels terrible as soon as the words leave his mouth, but he can tell immediately that they both understand. She kisses him and his father claps a supportive hand on Jack's shoulder. They leave with the promise of only being a phone call away.

At some point even Katy shows up, pale and anxious and never standing still for a second. It's painfully obvious that she's been crying and Cory manages to say something slightly comforting in a hollow, stilted voice. She paces back and forth and Cory watches her, wondering why he can't just stand up and go to her. Wondering what has him frozen and unable to move at all. When she leaves, he knows it's because the zombified versions of himself and Jack are just too much for her to handle. He can't really blame her. He'll have to apologize to her later.

Later.

It's later now, but there's still no word. Cory tastes blood and realizes that he's been chewing on his bottom lip for a good twenty minutes. Didn't the doctor say he'd send someone out to keep them informed on how the surgery was progressing?

How much longer is this going to take? How long do brain surgeries normally take? Cory vaguely remembers Topanga telling him about some of the things she had read online, but he hadn't really been paying attention.

Jack's face is buried in his hands. He hasn't said anything to Cory since the whole “he has to be" thing and Cory knows this is because his faith is shaken. As much as Cory knows that the blame does not belong to him, he grabs onto the guilt with both hands and holds it for dear life. It's better to feel guilty than the suffocating fear. He doesn't speak to Jack. He only becomes increasingly aware of the deep breaths Jack is taking, too strong and with forced regularity. Like he's reminding himself to breathe. Like he's afraid of drowning.

Once, just once, Cory reaches out to touch him on the shoulder. Then he moves down to touch his arm. Then he just drops his hand in his lap. He has nothing to offer Jack anymore. He burned that last bridge when he admitted that all of his confidence and optimism was just an act. Now Jack knows that when he says something like, “Shawn is going to be okay. I know this because he's strong and a fighter” and whatever other bs that was coming out of his mouth is really just code for, “I think Shawn might die.”

And that's that. Cory can't shake this weighty feeling that he's going to lose his best friend. Maybe not today, during or after the surgery (if it ever ends), but later. Whatever is inside of him. . . it's not just going to be over and done with when they remove the tumor. It won't be that easy. It's not going to be easy. Shawn is a fighter and he's overcome everything else up until this point in his life, but everyone loses. With the exception of Jack, Cory can tell anyone that he believes it will be okay, and they'll believe him. That's all he has left.

Because he sure doesn't believe himself.

“Have you heard anything?”

The voice, so young and full of innocent hope, pierces Cory like a dagger. “Maya,” he whispers, lifting his head to see his daughter’s best friend. “You shouldn't be here.”

Maya's face is set in stone and Cory recognizes the look instantly. She could be Shawn's daughter right now. “I'm not going anywhere,” she says, and he knows there's no arguing with her.

He pats the empty chair next to him and when she sits, pulls an arm over her shoulders, drawing her closer to him. “Nothing yet,” he tells her quietly.

Maya sighs in frustration. “Are you serious?” she asks incredulously, with all the indignation of a fourteen year old. Cory envies her for being young enough to wear her heart on her sleeve. His least favorite part about growing up is having to protect others from your thoughts and fears. “How much longer is this going to take? It's been freaking hours!”

“I know.” It's all he can say. On his other side, Jack still hasn't even looked up. There's a slight hitch in his focused breathing and Cory thinks that he's probably trying hard not to cry. “Maya. . . does your mom know you're here? Or Riley? Topanga? Anyone?”

“I went to Riley's room with a headache, slipped out the bay window and came here,” Maya shrugs. “I said I wanted to be alone and sleep the headache off. It was shockingly easy.”

Cory sighs and moves to get his phone to text Topanga, but Jack surprises him by saying, “I'm on it.”

Anger flashes in Maya's eyes. “Don't!” she says, trying to snatch the phone from Jack's eyes. “They'll just come get me! Why do we have to wait at the apartment anyway? What makes you two so special?”

Her words are venom, dripping from her lips and threatening to kill. Cory has never seen her so angry. But he has seen Shawn this angry before. And Maya is so freakishly similar to his best friend that it scares him. Scares him enough to make it hard to sleep sometimes. He's cautioned Riley to watch her carefully and just be there for her. She's a time bomb, almost constantly walking the line and he just never knows which way she's going to fall. He could always predict Shawn's biggest falls, but not her. That's Riley's job. Maya is Riley's Shawn. And Riley isn't here right now.

“We didn't see any sense in crowding the waiting room for hours at a time,” he tells her, halfway honest. It was Shawn who requested that just he and Jack wait. He didn't want to cause a big scene and Cory felt that they could do him that small of a favor. “Everybody is close enough that they can wait at home where it's more comfortable.”

“Here,” Jack is offering Maya his jacket and Cory realizes for the first time that she's soaked through and shivering.

“Is it. . . raining?” he asks, and Maya just glares at him.

Her glare moves past him to land on Jack. “What did you tell my mom?” she demands.

Jack isn't looking at her. “I told her to come get you in half an hour,” he says. “That way everybody wins. You get to stay here for a little, and then she can take you back where you're supposed to be.”

“Jack-” Cory starts in warningly.

“It's none of your business!” Maya spits out, standing up and throwing Jack's coat back in his face.

“Shawn is my brother,” Jack replies, his voice an eerie calm to contrast Maya's violent anger.

“And he's my-” Maya stabs a finger in her chest, but cuts herself off. She stand there for a moment, trembling from more than just the cold, before stalking away from both of them and sitting in a chair across the room. Arms crossed over her chest to protect herself from any possible blows, she just fixes them with an icy glare.

Cory hesitates. “Jack-”

“Shut up, Cory.” It doesn't even sound like Jack and it freaks Cory out. “Don't say anything else. You've said enough.”

Despite herself, Maya's eyes are darting back and forth between the two of them and when Jack says that, she snaps to attention and holds her gaze on Cory. “What,” she questions sharply. “did you say?”

Cory turns to stare at Jack, pleading with him silently to spare Maya. Jack, in the midst of all of his despair and hurt and anger and whatever else he's feeling right now, has to know that she's too young and fragile for this. Please, he thinks, trying lamely to project the silent thoughts on Jack somehow so he can hear. “Let me protect her while I can.”

Jack stares back at Maya, his expression blank. “He said that he wishes he knew the doctors were as good as they say they are.”

It's a lie. A safe one. Enough to scare Maya by letting her know Cory's confidence levels aren't near where he pretends they are, but not enough to break her heart. Cory breathes a sigh of relief even as a little of the fury in Maya's eyes is exchanged for fear. “What do you mean?” she asks, her voice suddenly mousy.

“It just means that we can read all this great stuff about them and we're still going to worry,” Cory tells her in what he hopes is a comforting tone. More comforting, at least, than Jack's monotone.

Maya's eyebrows shoot up. “You're worried,” she says, but there's a question in her words.

Cory nods. “Of course I am, Maya. But-” he glances at Jack who, once again, won't look at him, “I think it'll be okay. Shawn is a fighter.”

The bitter lie eats away at him, but Jack doesn't say anything and Maya looks the tiniest bit assured, so Cory relaxes. He smiles at her and she returns to her seat next to him, hugging him. “I think so too.”

Her youthful innocence in the situation is like a spark. It's very small but it's there all the same. It gives Cory a start, puts something in his heart along with all the fear and guilt and helplessness. It's hope. The smallest offering of hope possible and dangerously frail, but he latches on to it anyway.

He holds onto it even when Maya leaves, relatively quiet but with big teary eyes and pleas to call soon. Holds onto it when his last cup of coffee runs out. Holds onto it when Jack touches him on the shoulder and apologizes.

“I shouldn't hold you to higher standards,” Jack says. “and I'm sorry I did. I just. . . I needed someone to believe without question that he's going to be okay. And I thought that was you.”

“I'm sorry I couldn't be that person for you,” Cory can only whisper. “I tried, Jack. I really did.”

Jack shakes his head. “It makes sense that you're not, Cory.” He sounds like he wishes it didn't make so much sense. “You've never been in a situation with Shawn where you were completely helpless. You've always been able to do something and this. . . this is out of your control.”

He's right. Too right. Cory blinks when Jack starts swimming in front of him. A stubborn tear makes its way down his face but he hastily scrubs his hand over it, brushing it away. “I don't know what to do,” he admits.

“There's nothing you can do,” Jack says so gently that the words almost don't hurt. Almost. “Nothing that's going to make him better. But Cory, what you did in his room before the surgery? That's enough. That's more than enough. That's important. Shawn. . . he just needs to know that you, that we, will be there for him. That's all we can do and it's enough. It has to be enough.”

Has to be. Cory just nods. “I can do that,” he says. Because he can. It'll be what keeps him from breaking in the end.

“Mr. Matthews? Mr. Hunter?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a lousy week to be honest. My pony passed away almost a year after my horse did, and the empty pasture we have now is kind of depressing. They were both in their thirties and lived really good lives, but still. And there's a lot going on with work and my family. Goodbyes suck. I'm just sad and tired and a little sick. Writing this helped. I hope you guys enjoyed it. Thanks as always for reading and I hope you'll all having a good week!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter eight? I think? There's an important author’s note that you're under no obligation to read of course, but it just explains some things that are important to me.

 

Jack and Cory trip over one another in their hurry to get up. Doctor Jacobson is walking over to greet them, a professionally blank expression stamped on his face. Screw professionalism, Cory thinks as he hastily straightens himself out. A million and one thoughts are rushing through his mind at the speed of light and making it impossible to speak.

Why does he look so blank? Wouldn't he be smiling to give them a sign that everything is okay? Why is he out here? Wouldn't he send out a scrub nurse or whatever? Is he here because he has bad news to deliver?

Drowning in his nightmarish thoughts, Cory becomes aware of the present reality only when he feels Jack's fingernails digging into his shoulder. “Is Shawn okay?” he's demanding, and Cory breathes a sigh of relief because at least one of them can speak.

“The surgery went extremely well,” Doctor Jacobson tells them, and Jack releases his vice grip on Cory's shoulder, collapsing back into his chair. Cory sways a little but manages to stay on his feet. Relief does not begin to describe what he's feeling.

“We were able to remove the entire tumor without any trouble. The lab is going to run a biopsy on it and we should have the results in a few hours. In the meantime,” Doctor Jacobson looks back and forth between Cory and Jack as if he's not sure who he should address. “Do you have any questions or would you like to see Shawn? And ask questions later when you're feeling a bit more at ease?”

“See Shawn,” Cory and Jack say in unison. “And. . . thank you. Thank you for everything.” Jack adds afterwards because Cory still can't get his brain and his mouth to really cooperate. “Thank you so much, Doctor.”

The doctor just nods and puts a steadying hand on Jack's shoulder. “Take a deep breath,” he advises quietly. “Take this time during the biopsy to collect your thoughts and set them at ease. Take advantage of the lull in action.”

The lull? Cory finds himself wondering if it's more like the calm before the storm. He glances at Jack who obviously has his mind set only on the present. He tries to force his mind to do the same and just be thankful that right now, Shawn is okay. But “right now” just seems more like “for now” to him.

“Come on, Cor.” Jack says over his shoulder as he starts to follow Doctor Jacobson.

Cory obeys, trailing them wordlessly. Listening. Trying to hear their words over his own loud thoughts.

_(What will the biopsy reveal?)_

“Now, Mr. Hunter, I do want to let you know that Shawn is still unconscious. He's-”

_(When will the biopsy be finished?)_

“How long do you think it'll take for him to wake up?”

_(What are we going to do if it's the worst case scenario?)_

“. . . may not be fully alert right away. Just be patient and try to-”

_(What is the worst case scenario?)_

“. . . anything we need to look out for?”

_(How does this end?)_

For now, it ends with Cory and Jack standing at the closed door of Shawn's hospital room. It ends with Jack shaking Doctor Jacobson’s hand and thanking him profusely once more. It ends with Jack then, grabbing Cory's elbow and dragging him inside the room to see Shawn.

He wishes he listened harder to the doctor. Maybe then, he would have been better prepared.

Shawn's entire head is wrapped up in some sort of white gauze. His face is a sickly, greyish color. There's a tube down his throat. The tube and his skin tone should probably be what scare Cory the most, but for some stupid reason he keeps coming back to the gauze around his head. Because underneath, he knows that Shawn is bald. That they've shaved him and all that's left behind is probably an awful scar and-

Cory feels like he's going to throw up. He wants to throw up. He blinks furiously, trying to unsee everything and accept it all at the same time. “Jack-” he says quietly.

“I know.” Jack swallows hard and moves closer. His hands hover helplessly over Shawn's still form, like he wants to touch him to confirm his realness but isn't sure how to do that without killing him. Finally, he ends up sinking into one of the chairs nearby and taking Shawn's hand in both of his. “He didn't look sick before. Now. . . Now he does.”

Cory shuts his eyes and opens them again. Nothing has changed. The nightmare is no longer a nightmare. It's real.

“Shawn? Hey, buddy. Bro.” Jack looks up at him. “Cory, sit down before you fall down. Talk to him. Let him know you're here.”

He obeys, sitting on Shawn's other side, across from Jack. He stares and stares and stares until his eyes burn. “When. . . um, when is he. . . going to-”

“Wake up?” Jack lifts one shoulder. “I'm not sure. He should start responding at least in a couple of hours. He might even be able to hear us now. That's why I told you to talk to him. He might be able to hear us, Cory.”

He looks at Cory pointedly, and Cory understands. No “I think Shawn is going to die” confessions here. He nods at Jack and then forces himself to look at Shawn.

_(This is your friend. Your best friend.)_

But it doesn't look like Shawn at all. Cory is trying so hard to see the boy he grew up with. But his hair is gone and his eyes are closed, and the rest of him is either covered up or cast in a color he's never seen before. And he's not conscious so he can't talk. Cory would give anything to hear his voice right now.

“Cory?”

He looks up again to see Jack watching him, looking concerned and desperate at the same time. “Just. . . just let him know you're here,” he says pleadingly.

If Shawn can hear him right now, he would have already heard him speak. Cory vaguely recalls asking just a minute ago something about waking up. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He wants to say something now. For Shawn and for Jack and even for himself, but he can't find the words this time.

He watches the realization dawn on Jack's face and the cloud of disappointment that follows quickly, settling over his features in a mask. “It's okay,” Jack says quietly, with far more understanding than Cory feels he deserves.

He watches as Jack nudges Shawn as gently as humanly possible. “Hey, bro,” he says in a hushed voice. “You'd better wake up soon. Helpless doesn't look too good on Cory.”

Cory laughs in spite of his fears. Truer words have never been spoken. He's always been able to fix things because there was always a way. As long as he knew there was a way, he never worried as much as everyone else. Now, he's in the same boat and he can't handle it. He's handling it less than everyone else this time.

As if he can read Cory's mind, Jack's head suddenly shoots up to look at him from across Shawn. “We forgot to call the others,” he says.

Oops. Only about half of Cory actually feels bad. The other half is frighteningly inconsiderate and he has to bit his tongue to keep from saying, “So what?”, managing instead to say, “Good thing it's only been a few minutes, huh?” This barely sounds any better.

Jack pulls his phone from his pocket. “I'll call Eric,” he offers, and Cory just nods.

Cory listens absentmindedly to Jack make the call, focusing more on Shawn. It's strange to see him so still. Even in his sleep, Shawn had always been so restless, twitching and shifting around. But now. . . he flinches and looks down at his shoes, noticing for the first time that day that his socks aren't matching. One of them is blue and the other is black.

“They'll be here in about twenty minutes,” Jack announces as he sets his phone aside. “I told them that Doctor Jacobson said it's a good idea to keep it to just two people in the room at a time.”

He did? Cory must have missed that part. “Okay,” he says, pretending that he knows what Jack is talking about anyway. “That's a good idea.”

Jack gives him a look that suggests he's not entirely convinced. “He said they wouldn't stay. Just stop in to say hi to Shawn. And when he wakes up, we'll ease him back into it all. But for now. . .” he trails off and shrugs. “Just keep it quiet.”

“Mhm,” Cory nods along with Jack's words, feeling a little bit like a bobble head doll. “Sounds good.”

“Hear that, Shawn?” Jack feigns enthusiasm. “We'll try our best to mute the crazy until you're ready for it.”

It's too weird, Cory decides, to be talking to Shawn when he can't talk back. When it's possible he can't even hear them right now. He can't handle it.

Jack looks surprised when he stands up. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” Cory mumbles. “I'm, uh, gonna wait for everyone. So they know what room Shawn is in.”

“Cory. . .” Jack sounds appalled. Cory turns to look at him and instantly wishes he hadn't. Jack's face is shock, filled with disbelief. He looks from Cory to Shawn and then back again at Cory.

“I'll be back,” Cory smiles and it feels like his face might split with the effort.

The worst part is that Jack isn't even angry. He's trying so hard to understand how Cory could be leaving right now, but he's not even going to try and stop him. “Okay,” he says faintly. “If you're sure. Um, we'll be here.”

Nod and smile, nod and smile.

And. . . step out.

The instant he closes the door behind him, Cory's legs give out and he collapses to the floor. He stares at his hands, wondering how it's possible for anything to shake like that. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, addressing Shawn for the first time. “I'm so sorry.”

He rests his head on his knees, waiting for the world to stop spinning around him. Cory knows he can't greet the others like this. No matter how many times Jack assured Eric that the surgery went perfectly and that  
they're only waiting for Shawn to wake up, if they saw him now, they would think that Shawn died.

Died. Death. The thought churns Cory's stomach, but he forces the nausea away and stands up. Leaning on the wall for support, he focuses on steadying his breathing. He absolutely has to pull himself together. This may only be the beginning of a long and hard journey. He can't fall apart. Not so soon.

On his way out to the front entrances of the hospital, Cory stops in the men's room to splash cold water on his face. He's shocked by the reflection he sees. Almost as pale as Shawn with enormous circles under his eyes, he looks like he's moments from passing out. Admittedly, he's hardly slept and that's probably wearing on him, but Cory is still shocked at just how horrible he looks.

“There's no saving this,” he murmurs to himself, ignoring the guy at the sink next to his who looks at him strangely. Let him think whatever he wants. Cory can only be as crazy as he looks.

Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right? At this point, Cory can't help but think that the Joker had a point. Maybe whatever doesn't kill you really makes you stranger.

He's stranger and he's a stranger. To himself, and now Jack who knows his secret. His awful secret that makes him an awful friend and an awful everything. “Who are you?” Cory asks the man staring back at him through the mirror.

He doesn't have a clue, but considering he doesn't know anything anymore, maybe that's not all that bad. It can just be added to the list. For now, Cory just considers it a small success that he doesn't put his fist through the mirror.

A faint buzzing sound breaks him from his reverie. Cory glances at his phone and sees the text from Topanga telling him that they've arrived and they're headed in to find out where Shawn's room is. Hurriedly, he types out a reply.

_-Wait for me. I'm on my way out to get you-_

He hopes Topanga doesn't reply. There's no way for him to explain over text. He glances once more in the mirror, makes one last attempt to make himself appear less horrid than he feels.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here's the thing: I had this chapter pretty much written so that's why it's going up. It isn't necessarily finished and consequently pretty short, but I'm going to be taking a break from posting anything for the next week or two. My aunt passed away after a long battle with cancer last night. I can't process anything past that, I'm sorry. I just need some time. I wanted to have something for you.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of your patience while I took this break. I started this in the beginning of this week and I started three other ideas that I had for one-shots, but I think the farthest I got with anything was around 500 words in. There was a lot of starting and starting over, is what I'm trying to say.

_His head hurts. Actually everything hurts, but the pain radiates primarily on the left side of his head. It’s like the migraines he’s been having except a million times worse because the complete lack of light and noise does nothing to soothe the pounding and stabbing in his brain. Shawn tries to reach up and rub the ache away, but he can’t move. Okay, he thinks. Blind. Paralyzed. Deaf. So much for that surgery. Though, then again, it is a little weird that he can’t move but can definitely feel pain._

_Shawn tries to ignore the pain, or push through it so he can think. He has no idea what is going on, or where he is, or much of anything. There’s enough of his coherence remaining that lets him scramble some thoughts together._

_The last thing he remembers is having that stupid panic attack and making his brother cry. Cory, was as rock solid as ever. Anything else before that is way too confusing. It comes and goes in quick, blurry snapshots and he wonders blearily if this is his life flashing before his eyes._

_He's decided that thirty-four is too young to die, because this whole flashback thing is over too quickly and more boring than he'd ever care to admit. Shawn has a lot of regrets and still a long list of things he wants to do. A lot of big things and a lot of small things._

_He doesn't want to die. Not just for himself, but for everyone else in his life. All of the people who have stubbornly stuck by him no matter how much he shoved them away. Shawn was always scared to let people get close because he was convinced someone would get hurt. Whether it was another person or himself, he just wanted to avoid the possibility of getting hurt all together. The idea of his death hurting the people he loved was enough to kill him all over again._

_He has a million and one reasons to fight, but Shawn doesn't know how to fight this. He feels like he's off to a bad start already with this deep, dark unconsciousness. He can't see. He can't even figure out how to open his eyes. He can't hear. Maybe there's nothing to hear, but he doubts that. And he can't move. His head is throbbing and his nose itches. For some reason, the nose bothers him more. Maybe it's because he's grown used to feeling helpless when it came to his headaches, and this stupid itchy nose is such a tiny thing that he is still powerless to do anything about._

_He doesn't want to die, but he can't even scratch his nose right now. Stupidly, this makes Shawn want to cry. What doesn't these days? He's been such a loose canon lately, tense, and ready to fly off the handle at the slightest provocation. Holding it in for so long only served to culminate in the panic attack, but Shawn can't see how it could possibly make anything better if he was more honest with his thoughts and emotions. It only scares people more when they know what he's feeling. When they see it for themselves._

_It affects them all differently, but as far as Shawn is concerned, it affects them all in a negative way. Take earlier today for example, when he lost that control. They're all adults now, but Jack will always consider himself the protector. He'll always be the older one. The big brother. The one who is supposed to look out for Shawn. He feels this responsibility even more so since they didn't exactly grow up together. He feels like they have to make up for lost time. And when he's confronted with something he can't protect Shawn from, like a ping-pong brain tumor, well, he punches walls._

_Topanga. Brave, kind, sweet Topanga. She can't look at him without crying anymore. She’s never been much of a crier, not that Shawn remembers. She was always strong and didn’t like to let other people see her cry or even show the slightest sign of weakness. She was a care-taker, not someone who ever wanted to be cared for. But this whole disaster was something she couldn’t handle, and now she just doesn’t stop crying, and Shawn hates it. He hates that he’s the one making her cry._

_Riley and Auggie are way too young for this. Riley will be graduating middle school and heading into high school carrying this on her shoulders. She should be looking forward to high school, worrying about boys and grades, not worrying about him. Auggie is all of six years old and doesn’t need any of this. He’s funny and precocious, but he’s sensitive, especially when it comes to death. He fell apart when he found his pet goldfish (named ‘Horse’) floating belly up in the fish tank._

_Maya and her mother. Shawn doesn’t know what to think about the two of them. He’s afraid to think about them. He remembers what Katy said, about Maya having the rug ripped out from under her feet. He’s grown to love Maya more than he thought possible, seeing so much of himself in her. Hiding all of her insecurities and anxieties under layers and layers of false confidence and a razor sharp wit. He wants to be able to give her everything her father never gave her. Everything his own father and mother never gave him. Love. A sense of self-worth and belonging. Stability. And now here he is, ripping the rug out from under her feet, just like he promised Katy he would never do._

_Mr. and Mrs. Matthews and Eric. His second- no, his real family for all of these years. All the times Amy “cooked too much food”, and Alan asked him to toss the football because “Cory and Eric were both busy”. The way Eric teased and tortured him mercilessly, exactly the way he did Cory. The way they took him in when his mother skipped town and his father went after her. Even when he rejected all their love and hospitality, moving in with Mr. Turner, even when he rebelled, they were there waiting for him._

_And Cory. Cory the control freak is so desperately trying to keep things from flying apart. He's lost control but he's trying to feign that he still has it, all the while trying to regain it. There's a lot of trying on his part which is standard Cory behavior and Shawn loves him for it. But at the same time, he worries because Cory has never done well with things that are out of his control. Underneath the carefully maintained facade, he's cracking. Shawn isn't so stupid that he's blind to that. But he also knows that one of the tiniest threads of hope that Cory is clinging to, is the hope that he can keep everything and everyone together. The hope that he can make everyone feel as though it will all turn out alright in the end. The hope that he can somehow, against all odds, make everything better. He needs this. And so Shawn gives it to him._

_It's a circle of lies, really. Cory is lying to him, pretending that he's fine and everything is fine. And Shawn is lying to him by pretending that he buys it. That he believes him. While in reality, they're all scared and helpless and an absolute mess. Because Shawn hasn't quite figured out if he's doing the right thing or making the biggest mistake of his life. Is honesty still the best policy if it brings nothing but pain?_

_Turns out that being unconscious can really be a good time for one to think. Plus, it's a really good distraction from the pain. Forcing himself to think this way gets Shawn out of the agony that is ever present in his head. Helps himself focus on something else. Gives him control over something. And Shawn is definitely craving any kind of control he can get these days. As much as it's hurting him the inside to have these thoughts swirling around in his head and making his heartache, Shawn knows it's probably the best way to spend his time. He has things to figure out and since he's not going anywhere any time soon, there's no time like the present._

_He doesn't run from his problems any more. Especially when they're unavoidable like this. But that doesn't make Shawn any less scared or confused. He just hopes he has enough time to find the answers to all of his questions so he can figure it all out. Make it work somehow._

_Here's what he knows: there is (or maybe was depending on what's going on with the surgery) a tumor in his brain. Best case scenario, it's benign and everything stops right there. Life continues on normally. Worst case scenario, it's not benign. He has cancer. He starts treatment. Best case scenario with that involves the treatment working and eventually ridding him of the awful disease. Worst case scenario. . . He dies._

_But it's not completely black and white. There are gray areas and Shawn is thankful for them. He's not alone. He has all these people standing by his side and doing their best to fight for them. He has them to fight for him and he has them to fight for. He has reasons. They'll be enough. They have to be. They’ve been enough before._

“Hey, Shawn.”

_Ah. Finally. So he’s not deaf after all. Shawn feels intense relief sweep over him. He knew that his hearing was more than likely fine. That his state of unconsciousness was just too deep in those first few moments when he could only think. Still, it’s reassuring to hear and he’s even hearing a familiar voice. Jack sounds more tired than Shawn thinks must be humanly possible, but it’s undeniably Jack. Calm and steady. Hopeful._

“Hey, buddy. It’d be great if you could wake up now.”

_Make that annoyingly hopeful and persistent. Shawn would like to wake up too, thank you very much. But his head is still hurting and even though he’s technically been sleeping for who knows how long, he’s tired. Unbearably, painfully tired. Whatever drugs the doctors gave him are still swimming in his system, making him feel weighted and slow. Clumsy and useless. He wants to wake up and talk to Jack, ask him the latest news and find another way to tell him that everything is going to be okay. Ask him where Cory is, because his absence so far is disconcerting._

“We’re all waiting for you.”

_Who’s we? This is beyond frustrating, Shawn thinks. This sort of paralyzed state where he can only think and feel and now hear. But his eyes refuse to obey his brain’s commands and he can’t even twitch a finger. Nothing to show Jack that he can hear him or that he’s even remotely aware of him. He’s trapped in his own thoughts and his body refuses to cooperate._

“I never thought I would be asking you to talk.”

_Shut up, Jack. This is difficult enough without his brother bossing him around. It’s harder to concentrate now. On one hand, it’s comfortingly familiar, but on the other hand Shawn really does Jack want to stop talking because maybe, just maybe, it’ll help him focus more and be able to open his stupid eyes. Or his mouth. Anything to prove that more than his brain and his ears are functionable._

“The doc said you should be waking up any minute now.”

_Jack isn't going to shut up any time soon, Shawn realizes. Not until he's able to actually wake up. Resigning himself to this, he listens carefully for any signs that someone else might be in the room. Topanga. Eric. The kids. Mr. and Mrs. Matthews._

_Cory? Where is Cory? Shawn would love to focus on waking up all the way, but his mind is so stuck on the apparent absence of his best friend that he can only try and fail._

_Open, eyes, open! Even in his head, that sounds ridiculous and crazy. Besides, the commands are frequently interspersed with Cory, Cory, Cory, and Cory. And since Jack isn't very helpful in that department, shawn is left to his own devices. Cory must be with Topanga and the kids. His family. Shawn can't figure out if this explanation makes him happy or not. He wants Cory to be with his family, especially if that's what he needs right now. But he also wants Cory right here, right now. With Jack. With him._

“We haven't heard back about the biopsy yet.”

_Finally. At least he's gotten some useful information. Not that it necessarily makes Shawn feel any better. He'd love actual answers for once. Everything is on hold and e can't stand it. He wants to know if he can move forward or be forced back a couple of steps. He just wants to know._

“Hey, Shawn, can you hear me?”

_Yes, Jack._

“If you can, can you. . . wake up? Or at least let me know that you can hear me?”

_Shawn tries, he really does. Nope. Sorry, Jack._

“Doctor Jacobson said there's nothing to worry about right now. That they're monitoring you and that there's brain activity and all that stuff. That you're aware of us and everything. It's just a question of how aware you are and we'll get a better idea of that once you wake up. He keeps saying that you'll wake up and that it'll be sooner rather than later, but. . . it's getting later all the time now.”

_I'm sorry, Jack._

“He said not to worry, but that's so much easier said than done. It's weird seeing you like this.”

_I'm so sorry, Jack._

“I miss you, bro. And it hasn't even been a day.”

_Jack's voice sounds like he's trying not to cry, and Shawn hates it. He hates that his brother is crying in the first place, but even more so he hates that he can't do anything about it. By this point, he's amazed that he actually hasn't woken himself up through sheer frustration and will power._

_The door opens._ “Hey,” _Cory, thank god, says softly. “_ Here.”

“Thanks. You're a lifesaver.”

_Coffee. Shawn doesn't have to be awake to tell what the exchange is all about. It's laughably predictable. Since Jack travels often for his job, he drinks a lot of coffee. Shawn used to joke that his brother’s body is about 60% caffeine._

“How's he doing? Anything?”

_Pause._

“No. Nothing.”

_Another pause._

“He's fine. He'll wake up soon.”

_Yet another pause, this one longer than the previous two combined._

“Yeah.”

_Shawn hates it when they talk about him like he's not there. They know that. Just because he's unconscious doesn't make it not count._

“How are you holding up?”

 _Jack chuckles quietly._ “I think I'm hanging in there more than I am holding up. It sounds more desperate. And I am definitely desperate.”

“Yeah.” _Cory is quiet. Thoughtful._ “I know how you feel.”

“I guess I didn't expect it to me this hard right from the start,” _Jack explains._ “I thought that we could hope for the best and prepare for the worst. But I'm stuck right now and I can't move past Shawn waking up. And he's not. He's not waking up, Cory _.”_

“Not yet.” _Cory's voice is mostly sympathetic and understanding. So typical of Cory. But there's a layer of fear to it, buried deep underneath. He sounds like he's trying to convince himself as much as he's trying to convince Jack. It's torture to listen to._

_Shawn tries to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat, but nothing happens. Instead he's made all too aware of the presence of something actually shoved down his throat. It's stuck there and he can't get past it. His swallow turns into a horrible gagging noise that scares even him to say nothing of Cory and Jack._

“Shawn?” _Jack's voice increases in volume by several decibels, but Shawn just barely noticed that in the midst of his quickly rising panic._

_His reflexes kick in and he tries to reach up to pull whatever is in his throat out, but he can't move. Something binds his wrist and holds it still. Shawn gasps out again, but his throat is blocked and he can't breathe at all right now._

_“Shawn, calm down! It's okay! Jack, go get a nurse. Hurry!”_

_There's a hand on his shoulder, trying desperately to soothe him, but all Shawn can think of is how something is keeping him from breathing and something else is keeping him from trying to take it out. Cory is telling him to calm down, but for once he can't. It's worse than the panic attack before. This time it's not all just in his head. It's real._

_“Shawn? Listen, buddy. You just have to relax. Help is-”_

_“Help is here.” The new voice is calm and professional. Cory's hand disappears from his shoulder, replaced by a new one. “Hi, Shawn. I'm Nurse Dani. I need you to try your best to relax.”_

_It doesn't make a different. Cory's voice. This stranger’s voice. The word “relax” simply don't compute right now. Tears sting Shawn's eyelids and he squeezes them tightly, feeling even more of his sense of control over his own body start to slip away._

_“Shawn, you have a tube down your throat to help your breathing while you were unconscious. I'm going to take it out, but you have to help me by calming down.”_

_Why does everyone act like calming down is as easy as counting to ten? Shawn stops trying to rip the tube out though. He stops trying to break his wrists free of the gentle but firm restraints. He tries his best to open his eyes and concentrate on the nurse’s instructions._

_“Count to three,” she's saying as Shawn at last manages to pry his eyelids open a centimeter. Light floods his vision, and feels like a sword piercing through his skull to his brain. It's agony. “Count to three and cough very gentle.”_

One. Shawn opens his eyes again, doing his best to keep them open this time. He sees light and color and shapes, but he can't distinguish them at all.

Two. Cory's hand reappears on his shoulder and gives a gentle squeeze. It doesn't help Shawn relax, but it stops things from getting worse.

Three. Shawn coughs and he feels the tube sliding up and out of his throat. He coughs and gags again, feeling sweat drip down his forehead from the effort.

The tube is gone and he's breathing on his own again. It feels like it should be easier than this. Like he's just escaped drowning. Like he's just coming out of another panic attack.

Yeah. That again.

“Take a few deep breaths for me, Shawn.”

Screw you, Dani. That's what Shawn wants to say, but his throat is on fire. He tries to reach up and touch it, only to be reminded that he can't move. He looks down, squinting to protect his eyes against the all the white and all the light that surrounds him.

Everything is slowly coming into focus. Like the pictures he develops in his darkroom. He sees his arm and some kind of restraint on his wrist. He opens his mouth to question its purpose, but he still can't talk.

“Deep breaths, Shawn.” Jack is murmuring from somewhere to his left. Shawn's eyes dart over to find the source of his brother's voice. Jack is perched on a stool next to the hospital bed, a mix of worry and relief on his face. The worry starts to fade and the relief grows more apparent as Shawn obeys, inhaling and exhaling slowly and regularly. “That's it.”

“Can we take these off?” Cory steps into view and Shawn feels his hands working at the restraints, quickly freeing him “don't touch your throat, Shawn. Leave it, okay?”

Shawn's automatic response to being freed was to touch his throat to try and find out why it hurts so badly, but he freezes at Cory's words and his hands fall into his lap. He takes a deep breath and flexes his wrist. Everything hurts, but at least he's free.

“Hurts,” he croaks out in a hoarse whisper.

“I know, I know.” A young woman fades in and out of view. She has a gentle smile. “I'm going to get you ice chips, Shawn.”

Ice. It's only she says that word that Shawn realizes how thirsty he is. How dry his throat is. He swallows hard. It's just Jack and Cory with him now and their quiet presence is helping. Shawn still feels nothing but pain, but the tension is leaving his body and he collapses back against his pillow, able to focus on nothing other than his breathing. Every inhale and exhale is agony and bliss at the same time, but he chooses to focus on the bliss.

“Hey, Shawnie.” There's so much relief in Cory's voice. “Good to see you, buddy.”

“Mhm.”

“Feeling okay? Any better?”

He nods in response to Jack's question. Manages to quirk one side of his lips up in a weak, crooked grin. “Been better. Been worse.” He winces.

“Shhh,” Jack frowns. “Don't talk right now, Shawn. Give your throat a chance to recover.”

Shawn nods again. Decides not to give Jack a hard time about wanting him to talk and then telling him to be quiet.

Nurse Dani appears, appraises the situation, and then hands Jack a paper cup before smiling encouragingly at all three of them and leaving. “I'll be back with Doctor Jacobson shortly,” she says in parting. “I'll give you a few moments to catch up.”

Jack thanks her and then quickly turns his attention back to Shawn. “Here you go, bro. Take it easy.”

If he didn't feel so weak, Shawn would grab the cup from his hands and down all of the ice right away. But he's not even the slightest bit humiliated when he has to let Jack feed him the ice chips, a few at a time. It feels too good to be worried about anything like that. The cool ice melts instantly on his tongue and the liquid slides down his throat, coating the ache soothingly. It's the greatest feeling in the world.

He sits back when it's all said and done with, and takes another deep breath. The burning in his throat has dulled considerably though he would gladly take a dozen more cups filled to the brim. Shawn stares up at Cory and Shawn who are watching him almost expectantly. “Am I supposed to talk or not?” he asks them jokingly.

Cory laughs shakily and Jack just rolls his eyes. “Stay quiet for now,” Cory tells him quietly. “Rest.”

Shawn feels like he's been resting forever, and he's still exhausted. But he wants to stay awake. He's tired of being tired.

As if Cory can read his mind, he says again, even more gently this time, “Rest, Shawn.” He pats Shawn on the arm. “It's all over now,” he says, talking to either Jack or Shawn or maybe even himself. It doesn't matter who he's talking to, they're all there to hear it. And it's what they need to hear. “It's all over now.”

Except. It's just the beginning.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try and start the next chapter sometime over the weekend but we'll see what happens. And I have to edit the last couple chapters on my laptop because my phone just doesn't cut it. I also want to shout out to the few commenters because a couple of you have expressed an interest in talking about BMW and Cory and Shawn. I haven't gotten back to you because I'm still trying to get a hold on everything, but rest assured that when I have time I would absolutely love to chat. 
> 
> As usual, thanks for reading and I hope you all enjoy your day. :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question: is there a way to private message on here? Or is the only way to communicate through comments on stories? If I can remember my old fanfiction.net log-in information, I'll let you guys know and we can chat that way. For the time being, help a girl out, ha-ha.
> 
> In related news. . . another chapter already, whoa.

“I've got good news, and I've got bad news.”

 Shawn holds the doctor’s gaze unflinchingly, bracing himself for what he's about to hear. He already knows. The good news is that the tumor was successfully removed. The bad news is that-

 “We removed the tumor in its entirety,” Doctor Jacobson says quietly. “And though that may not seem like much after you know everything, I can assure you that we are off to a good start.”

 Shawn nods, careful to keep his expression as blank as he can. He doesn't trust himself to speak though. A good start. He turns those words over and over again in his mind, finding nothing positive or encouraging in them. He doesn't want it to be a good start. He wants it to be a good end. He wants this all to be over.

 Cory and Jack are flanking him and both of them are eerily quiet. Shawn can feel tension pouring off of Cory in waves, culminating in an iron like grip on the bed rail, and he's not sure Jack is breathing at all right now. Instead, he's staring at the doctor so intently that Shawn is partly afraid he's going to burn a hole in him.

 When his “good news” is met with nothing but silence, Doctor Jacobson sighs heavily and Shawn can't help but feel a little sorry for him. He wouldn't wish the job of delivering the bad news on anyone. “Unfortunately,” he begins, and Shawn hears Jack breathe in sharply. “the tumor was malignant, which means of course that it was cancerous.”

 Cancerous. Cancer. Shawn's head is spinning. Ironic because he knew, yet the realness of all is still making it a difficult concept to grasp. “Cancer,” he repeats in a rush of air that leaves his lungs. “What. . .” he pauses, not because he's searching for the words or the shock is making it difficult to speak, but because he's having a little trouble connecting his brain with his mouth. As successful as the surgery was, it did leave him with a slight speech problem that the doctor assured him he could fully recover from. Though it sounds like it's the least of his worries.

 “What. . . kind?” Shawn finally gets out.  He keeps his gaze riveted on Jacobson, not daring to even glance once at Cory or Jack out of the corner of his eye.

 "It's called CNS lymphoma,” Doctor Jacobson replies. He leans forward in his chair, hands clasped together and resting on his knee. Reading Shawn's questioning look he quickly adds, “The CNS stands for “central nervous system” and it develops in the lymphatic system. This system, is essentially a network of small organs called lymph nodes that carry a clear, watery fluid called lymph throughout your body. The fluid supplies special disease and infection fighting cells called lymphocytes.” He pauses, regarding them carefully to make sure that they're all still following.

 “So,” Jack speaks slowly, like he's trying his best to follow but is still stuck on a factor or two. “You. . . you said central nervous system. And throughout the body. What does that mean exactly?”

 He knows what it means. They all do. But Jack is hoping for the doctor to say something else. To tell him that he's wrong and that it's something much less disastrous. To tell him that he's making a mountain out of a molehill. Jumping to the worst conclusion. The wrong one. However absurd, there's a tiniest shred of hope and Jack is clinging to it for all of them.

 That last shred of hope disappears instantly when Doctor Jacobson nods. “This is where it gets heavy,” he warns them gently. “I'm afraid that these kind of tumors often present themselves in groups throughout the body. Most commonly found in the brain, but in the spinal cord as well. We'll have to do a full body scan, but this sort of tumor spreads rapidly and it's very likely that more will show up. I'm sorry, Shawn.”

 “How likely?” Jack asks desperately, stubbornly clinging to the nonexistent hope.

 Shawn doesn't hear the doctor’s answer. He sees it in the older man’s stooped shoulders and shaking head. He feels it in the way the bed shakes slightly when Cody grips the rail even more tightly.

 “I-I don't understand,” Cory stammers. “You said this whole lymphatic system. . . it's supposed to protect the body from disease. Why- How is this happening?”

 Doctor Jacobson shakes his head again. “More often than not, the explanation for these tumor occurring are a weakened immune system. But sometimes, mutant cells can simply develop and attack the body rather than protect it. Cancer has many causes and explanations, but not always. You can live the healthiest lifestyle possible and can still be diagnosed. It's something we're always studying in the medical fields, hoping to find ways to prevent it or even cure it.”

 It's Jack's turn to shake his head. “I don't understand how any of this is possible,” he murmurs faintly. He drops his head into his hands before running fingers anxiously through his hair, making it stick up. “How is this possible?” he demands. “Are you. . . are you absolutely sure? I mean, all you did was slice up a tumor. Maybe-”

 “The tests we ran before we removed the tumor helped to confirm the diagnosis as well,” Jacobson tells him gently. “The neurological exam. The eye exam. The reflex-”

 “Okay, okay.” Jack waves to stop him from speaking. He sounds almost irritated, though Shawn knows that it's just how he deals with stuff beyond his control. “I get it. I-” He takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair once more. “Shawn.”

 Shawn breaks out of his reverie and turns to his brother. “Hey,” he says gently, forcing a small smile. “Don't p-panic y-yet.” Though his own panic is certainly making it even more difficult for him to get his words out. He tries to speak more slowly. One word at a time. “W-what kinds of. . . treatment are we l-looking at? There are treatments, r-right?”

 “Absolutely,” Doctor Jacobson says, nodding. “Unfortunately, it's extremely unlikely that we got the only tumor out and even in that case, we'd have to run a number of scans over a long period of time to ensure that no more form. Once we know how many tumors there are and where they are, we'll be able to target them. More surgery for the ones that are easier to get, and then chemotherapy and radiation to help with the rest. I'm afraid it's another wait and see process, but let's just take one day at a time.”

 In spite of his best efforts, Shawn is finding it extremely difficult to maintain a positive outlook the more the doctor talks. “How bad. . . is this kind of cancer?” he asks hesitantly. Is his entire body filled with tumors and they don't even know it? The thought makes his skin crawl and he shivers. Cory moves to get him a blanket but he just shakes his head. “I'm fine.”

 Doctor Jacobson gives them all a sympathetic, encouraging smile.  “We’ll have to run more tests to see what stage we’re at with the cancer.  We’ll perform scans, take blood, get a better idea of the best way to treat it.”

 He still hasn’t answered the question.  Shawn doesn’t miss it.  He’s no stranger to people dancing around questions, being evasive with him.  He’s an expert at it himself.  Shawn glances at Cory and Jack from the corners of his eyes to see that they’re thinking the same thing.  He waits, but neither of them say anything and it becomes painfully obvious that no one wants to actually know.  Ignorance is bliss, after all.  

 Glancing down at his hands, Shawn studies them closely.  Flexes each finger slowly and carefully.  They seem to all work just fine.  His toes work too.  They haven’t exactly let him out of bed yet, but he’s almost positive that he could walk right now.  A little shaky, a little weak, but under his own power.  It’s not like he’s completely handicapped.  

 Not yet anyway.  

 The doctor clears his throat, startling all of them.  “Can I answer any questions you have right now?  Or would you rather take some time to let everything sink in and talk amongst yourselves?  It’s a lot to take in, I know.  There’s no harm in stepping back and taking some time out to breathe.”

 Shawn takes a deep breath when he says this.  His lungs work just fine too.  How much longer before everything inside of him stops working so well?  Before something starts to shut down?  How long before his sickness is more than just inconvenient headaches and frequent dizziness?  How long before he starts getting answers whether he wants them or not?

 “What,”  Cory pauses, thinking carefully of his choice of words.  “I mean, you said that we could take some time.  How much time?  Isn’t it better to start treatment right away?  Or as soon as possible?  Don’t get me wrong, I have no idea how to process all of this.  I kind of feel like I’m on this ride and can’t stop spinning. . . and that I’m going to be sick.  But. . . I hate to think that we’re sitting on our hands when we can be doing something.  Anything.”

 They look to the doctor hopefully, but he’s just shaking his head.  “Shawn just had surgery on his brain,” he reminds them gently.  “He’s going to need some time to rest and recover.  I know it’s probably pointless to say, but I’m going to say it anyway.  Try not to worry.  Worry never did anything good for anyone.  As soon as we feel comfortable that Shawn is strong enough, we’ll proceed.”

 “But couldn’t the. . . disease,”  Cory glances at Shawn who just gives him a knowing look.  “Couldn’t it get worse?  While we’re sitting and thinking, couldn’t it just- the tumors. . . couldn’t they-”

 “Shawn never showed any signs of being sick until the brain tumor formed,”  Doctor Jacobson replies.  “That’s a good sign.  Wherever else the cancer might be hiding, it hasn’t progressed so much that it’s affecting his daily life or become debilitating.” He raises his hand against further protest when Cory opens his mouth to say something more.  “I know it’s going to be difficult.  The waiting can be one of the hardest parts.  But it’s all we can do for now.  Shawn, your only job right now is to rest and get your strength back.”

  _Because you’re going to need it._ Shawn catches the implication.  They all do.

 “Is there,”  Jack is staring so hard at Shawn that it’s a little unnerving.  “Is there something we should be looking out for?  Anything that we should worry about?  Signs or. . .”

 “Good question,”  Jacobson claps his hands together, making Jack jump and tear his gaze away from Shawn.  “It’s likely that you’re going to be nauseous for the next few days, Shawn.  We’ll keep you hydrated and as long as it doesn’t get too bad, that won’t be anything to worry about.  Headaches are to be expected too.”

 “Seeing as how. . . you just c-cut open my head, I’m not surprised,”  Shawn says dryly.  But neither Jack nor Cory laugh.

 “Your speech,”  the doctor gestures at him.  “I can assure you that with time and patience, and a little practice, maybe some therapy-”

 “T-therapy?”  Shawn feels his face flush.

 But the doctor seems unfazed and lifts a hand as if to brush it away.  “Perhaps,” he says casually.  “But perhaps not.  We’ll see how you progress in the next few days.  But. . .”

 “Take in one. . . day at a. . . time.”  Shawn finishes slowly.  “Right.”  He’s heard that phrase so many times the past several days that he thinks if he hears it again, he just might scream.  Although, that might be because he’s never been a very patient person to begin with, and lately all he can do is be as patient as humanly possible.

 It’s getting closer to impossible with each possible second, so he gives the doctor his best smile.  “Thanks, Doc,” he says quietly.  “I really. . . a-appreciate it.  Can, um. . . we have some t-time alone now?”

 “Of course,”  Doctor Jacobson returns his smile.  “Let me know if you have any questions.”

 Cory and Jack both mutter a thank you and they all watch him as he leaves.  The door shuts behind them, enclosing them in silence.  Shawn relaxes against the pillows, closing his eyes.  He’s tired of talking.  Mostly because there’s nothing anyone can say to change anything, but also because he’s tired of slurring and tripping over his words.  

 “Are you-”

 “I’m fine,” he interrupts Cory more sharply than he intends.  “Just. . . tired.”  At least he’s not lying.

 “Topanga texted me,”  Cory says to them.  “Can she stop by?  My parents have the kids.”

 “Yeah, sure.”  Shawn opens his eyes again, but he doesn’t look at Cory or Jack.  Instead, he stares up at the ceiling, unblinking.  The bright light burns a little and makes his head hurt, but he doesn’t really care.  Normal, right?  The new normal.  He hates the new normal.  “You know, the. . . k-kids can stop by too.  They’d pro-probably lighten the mood a little. . . bit.”  Unless they got scared by his inability to string more than five words together at a time.  Or his shaved head.  Or his general weakness. Maybe them coming was a bad idea.

 Cory’s hand is on his shoulder and he’s looking at him understandingly.   “Maybe tomorrow,” he says compromisingly.  “I know they would love to see you.  Maya too.”

 Maya.  Another reminder of how everything has been turned upside down.  He doesn’t know if he can stand seeing her right now.  He doesn’t know if he can stand seeing how badly he’s let her down.  But Cory is watching him and waiting for his response.  “Sure,” he says, against his own better judgement.  “Tomorrow.”  He can speak in one word sentences and maybe that way he won’t freak them out.

 “Tomorrow is another day.”  Jack is doing that thing again.  The thing where he says something on the pretense of encouraging others, when he’s really saying it for himself.  

 Another day.  He wants to be positive, he really does.  But deep down, Shawn finds himself wondering how many days he has left.  The part of him that is just a terrified little boy, certain that the monsters under his bed and hiding in his closet, are going to get him in the end.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Related news: I'm doing research on CNS Lymphoma and hope to keep it as accurate as possible. And also interesting because sometimes all the med talk can be a little dry. More characters will show up in the next chapter!
> 
> Unrelated news: I have started The Vampire Diaries and I am in l-o-v-e with Damon Salvatore.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing to see here! Move along.

Maya Hart is a lot of things.  

She’s sarcastic, too sarcastic as her mom says.  Sometimes she doesn’t know when to stop or how far is too far.  A joke here, and a joke there, and then suddenly she’s making people mad or hurting their feelings.  It’s like she was born without the part that picks up on other people’s feelings.  Empathy.  But she’s not.  Not entirely. She just uses her sarcasm to protect herself.  She hates that it sometimes leading to others getting hurt instead, but she hasn’t yet quite figured out how to start.

She’s lazy.  This isn’t an act or a shield like the sarcasm is.  She really is lazy.  Unmotivated.  She hates school.  She’s smarter than she pretends to be, but she doesn’t want to put any effort into her work.  Unlike Riley, she didn’t grow up with her parents praising and encouraging her, so now she just has a mindset that she can’t shake.  It tells her that nothing good will ever come of hard work.  Somebody somewhere will find something to complain about.  They’ll point out where she went wrong.  Why bother trying?

She’s smart.  Really smart.  If she put as much effort into her school work as she put into her art, she’s have almost as many A’s as Riley.  But she doesn’t understand the point of studying about what happened one hundred, two hundred, three hundred years ago.  The present is all that should matter.  She doesn’t understand the importance finding square roots or common denominators. There’s no need for that in the real world.  Who in their right mind would bother to care about symbolism in literature?  Let blue curtains be blue curtains without any meaning hidden underneath.  They don’t teach you how to get through life in middle school or even high school and Maya resents that.

She’s selfish.  This isn’t something she pretends to be or tries to hide.  It’s right up front and painfully obvious.  She gets jealous when Riley hangs out with anyone else, even if it’s just Lucas or Farkle.  When Angela came back into Shawn’s life for one day, she couldn’t take her eyes off of them and felt sick to her stomach the entire time they talked.  She felt like her life was finally coming together with Shawn in the picture and Angela’s appearance had threatened that.  She wasn’t proud of how she handled the situation, but she didn’t regret it either.  

She’s funny.  Her sense of humor is as sharp and quick as a whip (let the literature nerds dissect that one).  Often she uses it to hide how she’s really feeling, but just as often Maya just likes making people laugh.  Especially Riley.  It’s almost impossible to be anything other than happy when Riley is happy.  And it’s so easy to make her smile or laugh.  Maya takes genuine pleasure in being the one to do that for her.  She feels like it’s more than just making Riley happy.  It’s lighting the sun that warms the world around her and makes things a little less darker.  

She’s insecure.  There are some things that she has full confidence in.  Her humor is one of them.  Her artwork.  Her ability to pretend to be everything she’s not and have everyone buy her act.  But on the inside she feels like she’s one wrong move away from losing everyone she’s ever cared about.  Everyone who, for some reason, ever cared about her.  One more mistake and they’ll all realize that she’s a massive screw-up and utterly worthless.  

She’s afraid.  Terrified.  She’s so scared of so many things, but instead of battling back and forth for control of her nightmares, all of the normal things have been shoved so far back in her mind that they’re practically non-existent.  Because Shawn’s. . . illness has taken front and center stage in her daily life, making it impossible for her to think about anything else.  She doesn’t have nightmares because she hardly sleeps at all these days.  

Twenty-four hour convenience stores are her saving grace.  It’s 2:33 in the morning and here she is, wandering the empty aisles of the local Wall-E’s.  The bright, florescent lighting makes her head hurt, but she welcomes it.  It seems otherworldly somehow, in this quiet and still hour that she has all to herself.  Her head, filled with so many thoughts, feels clear and simplified.  It’s a relief.  She takes solace in walking by rows and rows of lightbulbs and junk food.  She scrapes together the change around the apartment and buys fifty cent candy bars each night she sneaks out because she feels bad about coming and going without spending any money. She might as well repay them in this small way.

Her phone is vibrating in her purse, but she ignores it in favor of perusing the selection of potato chips.  She doesn’t have enough money to actually buy any of them, but she can admire the brightly colored packaging and crinkly sound they make when she drags a hand over them.  It’s a happy sound.  It makes her think of parties and celebrations.  Stuff that’s miles and miles away from their present life these days.  Stuff that sounds like a fairy tale now.  Not to be melodramatic or anything, but it seems like just yesterday they would have been the kind of people who threw parties.  Now it’s just one big joke.

She dabbled in shoplifting for a short period.  Maya stops, trailing her fingers along the cold metal shelves.  Admittedly, it wasn’t her smartest period of time, nor is it one she’ll ever be proud of, but it happened.  Shawn was actually the one who made her stop.  “Trust me” he had said.  “It’ll never work out for you.”  And that was all he needed to say.  After countless speeches from Riley and several scoldings from her mother and the Matthews, Shawn was the one who made her feel sad and ashamed.  It wasn’t in his words so much as his face when he spoke.  He had his own regrets and he didn’t want them for her.

Although if she’s honest with herself, she’s tempted to take something tonight.  It gave her a sense of control that she so desperately craved in her out of control life. It let her make decisions.  Sour cream and onion or barbeque?  Two or three?   _Lays_ or _Pringles_?  Yes or no?  

No.  Shawn would be disappointed.  Riley too, and that mattered.  Maya feels terrible, but it’s difficult to think about anyone other than Shawn these days.  And it’s also difficult to remember that she’s not the only one hurting.  She’s not the only one who feels physically ill whenever she thinks about what’s happening.  She’s not the only one who is afraid she’s going to go crazy trying to rationalize it all.  She has to remind herself of all of this because she’s selfish.

Her phone is ringing again.  Sighing in frustration, Maya glances at the screen.  Riley.  Of course.  At least it’s not her mother.  Maya isn’t positive she can talk to her right now.  They haven’t exchanged a word in nearly three days now.  They’re like ships passing in the night, interacting only when absolutely necessary.  It’s how they’ve always handled pain or grief or any unpleasant emotion.  They avoid it entirely, running away and letting it chase them until it catches up to them and smacks them in the face.  They’re experts on the subject of denial.  You could say they wrote the book.

“Hey, Riles.”  There’s no point in avoiding her anymore.

 _“Maya, where are you?”_  Riley doesn’t have a clue what denial is.  She gets straight to the point.  A trait she inherited from her mother.

Sauntering from the chips to the dairy aisle, Maya stares at her reflection in the glass refrigerated doors, grateful that Riley can’t see her right now.  It’s easier to lie when you’re invisible and others can’t see how scared you really are.  Because eventually, everyone runs out of fake smiles.

“I’m at Wall-E’s,” she says, because she should tell at least one truth tonight.  “Couldn’t sleep.”

_“Maya, when I can’t sleep, I read.”_

Maya rolls her eyes.  “Good for you,” she replies, her gentle tone softening the sarcastic words.  She may be a mess, but she never wants to hurt Riley.  No matter what happens, she refuses to let herself sink to that level.  She’s afraid that’ll take her down a road from which she’ll never be able to return.  “I can’t sleep, Riley.  I can’t shut my mind off by sitting and doing something so. . . so aimless.  Watching TV doesn’t work either.  I need to actually do something, be somewhere.  Move.”

_“Why didn’t you come with us to visit Shawn today?”_

Her breath catches in her throat.  The question is blunt, somehow gentle and forceful all at once.  Maya can’t decide if she envies or resents Riley’s blatant disregard for her habit of living in denial, but right now she’s learning towards the latter.  “I. . .I don’t know,” she falters, feeling trapped.  “I just couldn’t, Riley.”  Her voice is just a whisper, lost in the hum of the refrigerators.  “I was scared.”

Riley is quiet and for a moment Maya thinks, hopes, that the call was dropped.  Then, _“Maya,”_ in a gentle but firm voice.   _“You can’t run from this forever.  And Shawn misses you.”_

“Thanks for the guilt trip.”  Maya says with false cheer.  She pulls her phone away from her ear and ends the call, struggling to breathe.  She’s shaking all over.  She feels nauseous and scared.  Angry and confused.  She’s never hung up on Riley before, but she doesn’t regret this first time.  

She feels awful about avoiding Shawn these last couple of weeks.  Like scum scraped off of the bottom of someone’s shoes.  She can’t even begin to fathom what he’s thinking or how he’s feeling, but she knows that way she’s been ignoring him is only making everything worse.  She loathes herself deeply for it, but her fear runs even deeper.  Maya knows that she’s helpless with this disaster and it’s causing her to run in the exact opposite direction she knows she should be.  It’s pretty typical of her. Good old Maya, leaving when the going gets tough.  She’s more like her father than she wants to admit.

The thought burns into her like a flame licking at her heart.  Everything she’s ever hated about herself has been because of her dad.  The bitterness and resentment has built up inside her entire life like a time bomb, and now she’s afraid that she only has minutes left before it goes off and obliterates everything and everyone around her.  Her life is a vicious cycle, a nightmarish carousel that she can’t get off of because it won’t stop spinning.

“Excuse me, miss?”  Maya jumps and tears her gaze away from the orange juice, turning around so quickly that she makes the shop employee standing behind her jump.  He holds up his hands in a sort of gesture that she guesses is supposed to be peacemaking.   “Sorry,” he says quickly.  “I didn’t mean to scare you.  I was just, um, wondering if you were okay?”

Cringing under his gaze, Maya swipes a finger under her eyes, surprised when she realizes that she’s been crying.  Her face flushes with heat and she backs away, nodding like a bobble head doll.  “Y-yeah.  I’m fine.  Sorry about that.”

He doesn’t believe her.  Maya is mortified that she can’t even fool a perfect stranger.  “All right,” he says, apparently willing to let her off easy.  Probably because comforting crazy crying teenage girls isn’t in his job description.  It definitely doesn’t run in the same space as stocking shelves or bagging items.  “Then. . . uh, can I help you find anything?”

She shakes her head.  Pastes on a smile.  “No.  No thanks.  I’m fine.  Thanks though.”  Can she say thanks one more time?  

Now he’s backing away like he’s afraid of her.  She doesn’t blame him though.  Actually, she’s relieved.  Up against the drinks like she is, she felt trapped and a little claustrophobic.  Maya sighs and watches him go.  He only glances over his shoulder once and then she’s alone again.  She turns her attention back to the drinks, ready to be distracted again, even if it is by nutritional labels.  

But it’s not working this time.  It’s failing.  Her mind is reeling and it’s starting to give her a headache.  Or maybe that’s the obnoxiously bright fluorescent lighting.  It’s no longer comforting, it’s terrible.  And a pair of drunk, middle-aged men with nothing better to do choose that exact moment to walk in and shatter the sacred quiet. But really she’s no different from them.  Just sober.  But the avoiding and running away from her problems?  Check.  Hurting the people who loved her the most? Check. Being a general screw-up?  Check, check, and check.

It’s so stupid of her to be here right now.  Maya starts to leave, quickening her pace as she walks by the men.  They’re loud and obnoxious, sloppy and creepy.  Maya holds her breath and keeps her head down, praying that they don’t notice her.  She needs to get out and as far away as she possible can.  She may not be drunk, but she’s still terrified that if she looks too long at them, she’ll see herself in them.

The night air is cold, and to add insult to injury, it’s raining.  Maya pulls her sweater closer to her, as if that will somehow help keep her dry and warm.  Her arms wrapped tightly around her torso, she hurries off into the night, trying to leave it all far behind her.  It’s stupid, but those stupid drunk men scared her more than anything else tonight.  She was too young to remember her father very well, but she remembers yelling and crying.  And her mom still drinks too much sometimes even now, and that she’s way too aware of.

And it makes her think of Shawn and what he’s told her about his father.   Tears stream down her face, mixing with the rain.  She remembers the pain in his eyes and the slight tremor in his voice when he told her how his father used to drink and drink and fall asleep in front of the television every night, oblivious to his son.  “I’d never let anyone grow up like that,” he had told her, totally convicted.  And she believed him.  Does everyone leave in the end?  Whether they mean to or not?

She’s cold.  So cold.  Not just on the outside, but also deep inside of her.  It feels bitter and isolating.  It makes her bones ache.  Maya clenches her jaw together in a poor effort to keep them from chattering together uncontrollably because it’s only making everything hurt more.  It’s astonishing to her that she can feel numb all over, yet still feel so much pain.  She’s so cold that she’s afraid that she’ll never feel warm again.  She’s lost.

The fact that it’s Shawn, out of all the people in the world, who is sick like this is the most impossible thing for Maya to grasp.  Anyone who knew him at all knew that he had been through enough to last several lifetimes, let alone one.  He had fought against everything and now he was up against a different kind of enemy.  One that he couldn’t beat with just stubbornness or an iron will.  It scared her, and it scared her to see how it was tearing everyone apart because they couldn’t do anything but watch and wait and hope for the best.  

It drives her crazy how they’re all pretending to handle it.  How do you handle something like this?  She may be acting like the worst person on the planet, but at least she’s being honest.  She’s not pretending like the world around hasn’t collapsed.  She’s not acting like everything hasn’t stopped.  She’s not saying “It’ll all be okay.” with a stupid smile on her face.  Sure, she’s faked a smile here and there to get by.  Because no one should be caring about her right now.  They need to be focused on Shawn.  But everyone has said to her at least once that Shawn will be okay.  They just assume that by saying it, it’ll become true.  And it’s a lie because they don’t know that.  Maya has had enough lies and empty promises to last her a life time.  Her father.  Her mother.  Being jerked around back and forth between hope and disappointment was getting old.  It makes her resent the people she put her trust in.  She feels betrayed by them.

Maya glances up, blinking the rain out of her eyes to see that she’s at the hospital.  She doesn’t remember heading in this particular direction, yet here she is. Shivering from the wet and cold, she ducks inside.  More fluorescent lighting.  More stillness and hushed voices.  But it’s different here.  Aside from the white walls, the colors are more muted than the convenience stores.  There are no brightly colored packages or big, loud signs pointing to all the great deals.  No tinny sound of the radio’s current hits mixed with the songs that were written decades ago.  It’s peaceful.  For real this time.

Visiting hours are well over, but it’s disturbingly easy to sneak past the guard and the receptionist at the front desk.  Cory told her Shawn’s room number.  It’s. . . on the third floor.  The oncology wing.  Maya swallows hard but ducks into the first elevator she sees and slams her finger against the button marked with a number three. Room number 321.  Now she remembers.  

The elevator dips a bit before rising and Maya takes the moment to check the time.  Nearly four in the morning now, but she can’t decide if she’s exhausted or wired. Her whole body feels sluggish and heavy, but she also feels on edge and alert, her mind still whirring away at seven hundred miles per hour.  She bounces on the heels of her feet as the elevator climbs steadily, shaking her hands in an attempt to rid them of the tingly feeling that’s spreading throughout her fingers.  Her chest is tight and she can barely breathe.

The elevator comes to a sudden stop and Maya is jarred out of her thoughts and fuzzy feelings.  Following the signs until she reaches the oncology wing, Maya hesitates for an instant, contemplating her next move.  What on earth is she doing here?  

But it’s only for an instant before something else, something much stronger compels her to move forward.  As much as she would love to claim it’s just her rebelling and disregarding the rules, Maya knows why she’s there and why she can’t turn around.  She can't run and hide anymore.

Trembling so hard that she struggles to put one foot in front of the other, Maya turns down a corridor and looks for Shawn's room. Her eyesight is blurring at the edges, a hellish combination of exhaustion and anxiety.

317\. 319. Maya stops in front of room 321 and forces herself to take a deep breath. Wrapping her fingers around the door knob takes some concentration, but she turns it slowly and steps inside.

He's not asleep. Maya freezes when she sees him awake and staring distractedly at the television. “I was asleep,” he says, obviously addressing the night nurse who is definitely not Maya. “I slept for a few hours and now I'm awake. I’ll fall asleep soon probably, this is just how it works. I've never slept straight through the night.”

Her failure to reply right away draws Shawn's attention and his mouth actually drops open when he sees her. Maya stands rooted in the doorway, unable to move. She opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out. Not even a choker whisper.

Shawn's astonishment lasts only for a few seconds. Then his expression softens into one of love and she can't handle it. “Maya,” he whispers, voice full of anguish on her behalf and that's ultimately what breaks her.

She staggers over to him, collapsing into the folding chair by his bed. Laying her head down on the sheets, Maya promptly bursts into a violent fit of sobbing that takes her breath away. “I'm- I’m- I’m-”

“Shhhhh,” Shawn's hand is on top of her head, running his fingers through her hair. “It's okay, sweetheart.”

Maya lifts her head up and manages to scoot onto the edge of the bed. Shawn's arms go around her instantly and she squeezes her eyes shut tightly. If she concentrates then she can almost convince herself that everything is just fine. They're not in the hospital. Shawn's head isn't shaved. Shawn doesn't have cancer.

Shawn rocks her gently, murmuring words of comfort. “It's okay, Maya. I'm right here. You're okay.”

But she's not okay. Nothing is okay. “I'm s-s-sorry,” she at last manages to stammer out. She presses her face into his shoulder, breathing in. He still smells like Shawn despite having been cooped up in the hospital for days on end. There's a faint, alcoholic smell from all the drugs and medicines that burns her nose, but it's mostly just like Shawn.  Solid.  Present.  Breathing.  Warm.  

She ignores his shaved head.  She ignores his pale complexion.  She ignores the hospital bed and the stupid IV that keeps getting in her way as she tries to hold onto him.  Nothing is okay and she’s not sure it ever will be okay.  Because right now, everything is fine.  Almost perfect.

He doesn’t ask her why she’s there or why she’s been ignoring him this whole time.  He just holds onto her, rocking her back and forth and whispering lies that she lets herself believe in spite of all the walls she’s ever built up.  “It’s going to be fine.  We’ll be okay.”

It’s the “we”.  One word.  Two letters.  That little word means everything to Maya.  People don’t use “we” when they mean themselves.  They say it when they mean more than themselves.  They also mean the people who are around them.  They say it when they mean to stay.  Her own father never used that word.  But Shawn did. Shawn used it all the time.

_“We’ll pick up some pizza on the way back.”_

_“What do you think we should do today?”_

_“We’re going to head over to the station now.”_

“We’re going to be okay.”

Maya Hart is a lot of things.  Sarcastic.  Lazy.  Smart.  Selfish.  Funny.  Insecure.  Afraid.  And stupid.  She’s so stupid.  Because right now, she’s believes every word.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummm, I really don't have anything to say this time, aha. Thanks for reading, and have a great week!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is later than I wanted it to be and I'm sorry for that! It started off well enough, but then I could only get a few sentences out at a time. Very frustrating. Anyway. I hope it came out alright.

As an incredibly awkward teenager, Cory was no stranger to bullies. He knew what it was like to constantly be on guard. To fear the bigger, stronger students. He knew what it was like to be teased and tormented and to have the wind knocked out of his lungs by a blow to the stomach. The feeling of having all the air suddenly rush out of him and be left with nothing but a tight pain in his chest was terrifying. He couldn't breathe much less speak. It crippled him, forcing him to the floor until he could finally make his lungs work again and force tiny, pathetic gasps of air out. He always hated having the air knocked out of him but it was nearly as common as cafeteria food fights. He has gotten used to it. 

Or so he had thought. This thing with Shawn has been one blow to the stomach after another, knocking him back down as soon as he collected himself and got to his feet again. Panic and helplessness all rolled into one giant fist, pummeling him over and over again. His mantra of taking one day at a time seems less comforting as the days dragged on, forcing an obstacle in front of them with each rising of the sun. He just wants it to stop but he is beginning to fear that there is no end except for the worst possible thing.

“I'm terribly sorry. I know you were hoping for better news, and I. . . I was hoping to give it to you.”

He's getting really tired of listening to Doctor Jacobson apologize. Cory is actually getting tired of listening to him talk. Since he's met the guy, all he's ever heard him has gotten increasingly negative. Shawn has a brain tumor. A cancerous brain tumor. CNS Lymphoma. There are probably more tumors. And now. . . there are definitely more tumors.

One at the base of his spine. One in his left lung. One in a kidney. Three more tumors and God only knows how many more cancerous cells are floating through his entire body. It's everywhere. Worse than they anticipated, Doctor Jacobson told them. Each tumor is fairly easy to access, but it's spreading quickly. They're talking options because even though CNS Lymphoma is an aggressive form of cancer, it is treatable. Doctor Jacobson told them that too. “It's not a death sentence.”

“What are the options?” Shawn asks quietly, staring up at the ceiling. He’s tired and his eyes are glassy. Is it just Cory's imagination or does he actually seem sick right now? Beyond the pale complexion, the shaved head, and the dark circles. There's something else that Cory can't quite put his finger on, but he's pretty certain that the more Doctor Jacobson talks, the more sick his friend looks. Paranoia never did him any favors.

“Surgery to remove the tumors. Chemotherapy to get rid of the cancer in your blood.” Jacobson is looking up at the x-Ray scans he put up on the wall to show them where Shawn's tumors are. “We want to be careful how to proceed though. Chemotherapy is hard on patients and we want you to have your strength for the surgeries.”

“Surgeries.” Shawn blinks and rubs his temple. “More than one?”

“The ones in your lung and your kidney are small and easy to get at. I'm confident we can get to the two of them in one go. But,” the doctor hesitates, as if he's waiting for Shawn to look at him. He doesn't. “I'm concerned about the tumor by your spine. It's not necessarily hiding, but at such a delicate location, we have to exercise extreme caution.”

Two more surgeries. Cory feels sick to his stomach. He can't imagine going through that process once more. He can’t imagine Shawn going through it again.  He doesn’t want to imagine any of it at all.  Like a child, he wants everything to go back to normal.  He wants to be able to go back to his school and teach without sounding and feeling like a total zombie.  He wants his daughter and her best friend to make it through one day without crying.  He wants Shawn to go to Africa or China or freaking Mars on some sort of photojournalist type trip.  It’s crazy how much he misses Shawn when he’s away, yet how much he really just him to be anywhere except here in this godforsaken hospital.  It would be better for him to be on the other side of the world, never to return than to be right here, right now.  

“Can you. . . give us some time?” Shawn asks now.  He’s still staring up at the ceiling, but his eyes have that filmy, wet look of someone trying hard not to cry.  Cory bites down on his lip and looks away.  All these years of friendship means that he knows that the best kind of support he can give right now is pretend he doesn’t see.  He hates it because it’s like they’re fourteen years old again, and he knows just what to say, but Shawn doesn’t want to hear it just yet.  But Cory isn’t stupid.  Shawn has so little dignity left, that the least he can do for him is let this one go.  

Doctor Jacobson nods, tells them both that he’ll be back in a few hours with a tentative schedule for the “next few steps”.  Shawn waits until the door closes behind him and the sound of his footsteps fade away before he hurls the TV remote across the room.  It’s weaker than he wants it to be though, and his aim is off.  It clatters harmlessly to the floor and Cory, desperate for something to do, hurries to get it only to nearly be hit by Shawn’s next victim, a pillow.  “Shawn!”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.”  Shawn covers his face with his hands.  “I just. . . I can’t stand this.  I don’t know how I’m supposed to handle it all, Cory!  I want to get out of this stupid hospital and be outside, but I’m stuck in here and probably dying and-”

“You’re not dying,”  Cory interrupts instead of biting his tongue.  “You’re not dying, okay Shawn?”

They can’t go there.  He refuses.  He doesn’t care if it’s stupid or immature of him to let his denial take control again.  It’s impossible to ignore the fact that Shawn is very sick.  He can’t ignore the cancer anymore.  But he can ignore the “possibly dying” part.  If he really wants to.  And he  _ really  _ wants to.

Shawn doesn’t argue with him.  It’s not because he believes Cory, but because he doesn’t want to hurt Cory by disagreeing with him.  He thinks he’s dying and that’s enough to destroy Cory.  He forces a smile anyway and slowly sits down next to Shawn.  If it helps Shawn to let him be obsessively positive then maybe it will also give him a reason to hope.  “So,” he says, wincing at the forced cheer in his voice.  “What can I do for you right now?”

It makes him feel a little better when Shawn rolls his eyes at the pretense.  His smile isn’t as fake as Cory’s.  “Break me out of here?” he asks, not quite joking.  “Or call the others?  It’s kind of quiet in here and. . . um,” he drops his eyes to his hands, playing with the hospital band around his wrist.  “I figured it might be better to have everyone here before I. . . you know, actually start feeling really sick or whatever.”

It makes perfect sense but it also makes Cory’s nausea grow even stronger.  If Shawn is already starting to look sick, how bad will things get?  Obviously, things are going to get worse, but how much worse?  Cory feels his smile slip altogether so he distracts himself with his phone.  “Sure,” he rasps out, scrolling through his contacts.  “I’ll start with Jack.  He’s over at the apartment anyway.  Waiting.  With everyone else.  He wanted to come, especially today, but he was sleeping when I left and I didn’t-”

“It’s fine,”  Shawn shakes his head.  “I’d rather him rest when he can.  I’d rather  _ you  _ rest too, Cor.”

“I get enough rest,”  Cory lies.  He hasn’t slept in two days.  It’s barely nine in the morning and he has already had three cups of coffee.  He hasn’t heard from Jack yet so he’s assuming, hoping, that he’s still resting at the apartment.  Even though that means he’s about to wake him up with some of the worst news ever.  

 

* * *

 

Shawn can almost convince himself that everything is perfect.  The people who mean the most to him are all in the same room.  They’re together and it feels so right even though it could not be more wrong.  For once no one is talking about his cancer. They're all pretending that they're not here in the hospital and it's disgustingly pathetic, but he can't handle anymore crying and comforting and lying.  He much prefers ignoring it, even if he knows that that won't make it go away. He's not trying to run away from anything, he's just taking a break. They all are.

“Uncle Jack is taking us bowling tomorrow night,”  Riley tells him, glancing at Jack as he speaks.  Out of everyone in the room, he seems to be struggling the most with this whole “just pretend” thing.  He keeps spacing out and has trouble keeping up with the conversations.  He hasn’t even blinked yet.

“Bowling, huh?”  Shawn raises his eyebrows when he catches his brother’s attention.  “Bowling, Jack?”

Jack’s smile catches on too slowly.  “Yeah,” he says when he finally realizes what they’re all talking about.  “I thought I could brush up on my skills.”  He does a poor imitation of rolling a bowling ball, making Auggie laugh.

Shawn smirks.  “Auggie, I bet you can beat him with one hand.”  He winks as Cory’s little boy giggles and whispers, ‘Just between you and me, Uncle Jack sucks at bowling.  He always has.”

“We don’t use the word ‘suck’.”  Topanga reminds him primly.  And Shawn loves her for it because she actually looks legitimately pissed off at him for teaching her son “a naughty word”.  She puts her hand on Auggie’s shoulder, gently forcing him to look at her.  “We can say that Uncle Jack is terrible at bowling because it’s true.”

“Not as bad as Cory,”  Jack points out weakly.  “Although, your mom is probably better than all of us, so we’ll have to see who you take after, Auggie. Your sister too.”  He nods at Maya.  “As for this one, that’s an even bigger mystery.”

Maya should laugh or have some sort of sharp retort.  Instead, she merely shrugs and a smile ghosts across her face.  “Maybe.” she whispers.  “I’ve never been bowling.”  And that’s when Shawn remembers he was supposed to take her.  As if she’s reading Shawn’s mind, she brightens up just the littlest bit and nudges him very gently.  “I guess I’ll have plenty of practice so I can kick your butt when you’re out of here.”

“Oh no, no, no.”  Shawn’s laugh is genuine this time and it feels wonderful.  “You’re learning from my brother.  You’re doomed.”

“You never know,”  Maya says lightly.  “I might be a natural.”

Shawn shrugs.  “I almost beat Topanga once.  So keep that in mind when you’re practicing with a guy who once bowled a twenty-two with bumpers.”

“Consider yourself challenged.”  Maya sticks her hand out to shake Shawn’s, and he tries to ignore the way she holds on him for a little too long.  

An awkward silence fills the room while everyone stares at their shoes.  Shawn clears his throat but can’t think of anything to say.  Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cory looking at him and he prays that he can read his mind and come up with something to say.  The last thing he wants to do is to give Cory yet another thing to do, but he doesn’t just want this.  He needs it.

Cory looks as helpless as Shawn feels.  He’s biting his lip, tapping one foot anxiously against the floor.  “Um. . . so, I was thinking that. . .” He glances at Shawn, floundering. “Maybe we could have a sort of movie night here. Every week or something. Start a new schedule, I guess. Maybe give us something to look forward to and enjoy?”

It's not what Shawn hopes for. It's acknowledging the elephant in the room. But they've spent the entire morning ignoring it and now that they've stretched the ignoring into the afternoon, it comes as no surprise to find that they're all running out of steam. Shawn fights against the bitter swell of frustration in his chest and nods. “Yeah,” he says, trying his best to sound enthused. “I'd like that.”

Really, it's not a bad idea at all. It's quite good. Shawn once thrived on spontaneity, but now that his life has become one big question mark, he could definitely use a little routine. The fact that it's something positive and even fun like a movie night makes it even better. But the nagging voice in Shawn's head that insists upon raining on every potential parade questions how many movie nights they're going to have to have in this hospital.

He wants to go home. He’s never been claustrophobic before, but these four walls, the door, and one measly little window are not enough.  He’s used to being outside and traveling around the world, and  _ moving on his own _ .  These days, he can’t remember what it’s like to breathe fresh air and feel the warmth of sunshine on his face. Every day it’s as if the walls close in a little more and he’s suffocating.  And every few minutes he remembers that this is only the beginning.

“Can I pick the first movie?” Auggie asks eagerly.

“Sure, buddy!” Shawn reaches over and ruffles the little boy’s curly hair, laughing a little when he shrieks and nearly falls off the bed in an attempt to get away. “We’ll go from youngest to oldest.”

Auggie straightens himself and starts listing people on his fingers. “Okay, so that's me, Riley, Maya, Mommy, Daddy, you Uncle Shawn, Uncle Eric, Uncle Jack, then Grandma and Grandpa.” He glances up at Topanga. “Right?”

Topanga smiles and kisses him, holding him tightly when he starts to squirm. “That's right!”

Auggie manages to squeeze out of his mother’s grasp only to land right into Cory's arms who promptly swings him up off Shawn's bed and holds him upside down. “Tickle him!” he calls out to Riley and Maya.

The girls rush to comply and for fifteen seconds they don't have to pretend. They're all really happy. It's not an act and it feels so refreshing. Shawn laughs as he watches his best friend fake scolding Auggie for trying to get away from his mother’s kisses. Auggie makes a face and they all laugh. It’s a moment that’s over so quickly that Shawn can’t help but wonder if it really happened.  It seems too good to be true.

But he can tell that it’s real because even when the moment fades, the smiles and laughter remain.  That’s when he realizes no matter how frightening things may get, they can still be happy.  They’ll get their chances and they’ll take every single one because that’s just what they need.

Auggie finally frees himself from the groupe of “tickle monsters” and hops back on Shawn’s bed, blinking with wide brown eyes.  “Uncle Shawn?”

Shawn pulls one arm around the boy and holds him close.  “What’s up, little man?” he asks.  He’s so thankful for him.  So young that he can’t fully grasps the severity of the situation, he gets scared and cries sometimes, but his innocence preserves his optimism.  Shawn envies him.

Auggie glances around the room, looking shy.  He leans as close to Shawn as possible and whispers in his ear, “Is it okay if I pick  _ Toy Story _ ?”

It’s his favorite movie.  He can quote the entire trilogy word for word, but the first one is his favorite.  “Never mess with the original,” is his hilarious go-to quote whenever someone questions his obsession with the film.  Shawn remembers with the slightest twinge of guilt that he once complained about Auggie’s absolute refusal to watch anything else.  He smiles now though and whispers back, “Absolutely.”

“Good.”  Auggie sits back looking completely satisfied.  “We’re watching  _ Toy Story _ first,” he announces smugly.  The reaction is mixed much to Shawn’s satisfaction.  Riley and Maya both roll their eyes.  Eric chokes on a laugh.  Cory and Topanga look slightly tortured.  Jack is still staring off into space.

Shawn pokes his elbow into Auggie’s side and holds his hand up for a high-five.  “To infinity and beyond, buddy!”

That’s when the door opens.  Everyone freezes and they go quiet, expecting Doctor Jacobson.  Jack stands up and trips over his own feet in his rush to get to Shawn’s side.  Auggie scurries off the bed and to his mother’s side so he can avoid a scolding, but no scolding comes.  It’s not the doctor.

Dimly, Shawn hears the others gasp in surprise.  He opens his mouth to say something, but it’s too dry and he has to lick his lips before he can try again. He’s too shocked to know what to say.  He doesn’t even know how to react.

“Hey, Shawn.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoooooooo could it be????? I'll do my best to update as quickly as possible in order to keep you guys from waiting too long. I know where I want to go with it, but it's currently 1:12 in the morning and I need sleep. Until next time then!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Thirteen. 
> 
> Writing this chapter gave me chest pains of sadness. And I've been rewatching Grey’s Anatomy, which does not help matters. 
> 
> This chapter is so short that it's cringeworthy so please forgive me? I promise I'm working on the lengths because the better to move the plot forward, right?

 

It's been two and a half years since Jonathan Turner has seen Shawn. Not because of any sort of rift between them, but simply because their lives went down different paths. He took a steady teaching job in Florida and Shawn has traveled the world as a photojournalist. They've always intended to meet up or at least stay in touch, but busyness can divide even the best intentions. Meet-ups became phone calls and phone calls eventually dwindled to text messages or emails. Soon became later and later turned into never.

In the back of John’s mind, he's always feared something like this. A tragedy becoming the only thing to bring them together again. As he stands in Shawn's hospital room, he sees his worst nightmare becoming reality. Everyone he's ever missed. Cory and Topanga. The children he's never met. Even Jack and Eric, the older brothers he never knew quite as well. And of course, Shawn. Shawn who doesn't even look like Shawn. Not because of the shaved head, but because of the weary slump of his shoulders, the dark shadows under his eyes, and the way his cheekbones jut out a little too much.

The room has plunged into an eerie silence. They're all much too stunned to speak. The dark haired boy and girl move closer to Cory and Topanga, but the blonde girl shifts closer to Shawn and John finds his gaze drawn to her. She bears no resemblance to Shawn at all, but something in the way his former student reacts to her movement is protective and almost parental. John swallows hard and glances over at Jack who has a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You called?” he asks dryly.

“You called him?” Shawn whips his head around to stare at Jack in shock. He looks guilty and if the situation were not so serious, John might have found his expression amusing. Like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

Jack doesn’t flinch away from Shawn’s incredulous glare. “You didn’t,” he replies with a shrug. “We’re adults, Shawn. That doesn’t mean I’ve stopped cleaning up after you. You should have called him.”

John steps in before Shawn can say anything else. “Yeah, Shawn.” He’s trying to smile, but all he can feel is a crushing sense of hurt and confusion. “Why didn’t you call me?”

Sure they’re not as close as they once were. That’s what time and distance do, no matter what kind of promises people make. But he still looks at Shawn and thinks of the lost and angry boy he was in high school. He still sees the boy he thought of as his own. He still loves him like his own. He never settled down, he never married, but he did have a son. Or at least in his mind he did.

Shawn smiles without humor. A look so reminiscent of his younger self, defensive and ready to withdraw at a moment’s notice. “I was just trying to minimize the casualties,” he says with a shrug. “Cory agreed to it.”

Now it’s Cory’s turn to look taught and John just wishes he could laugh at the whole thing. “I agreed to wait until we knew that it was. . . serious.”

John scoffs. “What qualifies as serious for you, boys?” They both look properly chastised. It's the “boys” that really shames them.

Jack shoves his hands into his pockets and backs slowly away from Shawn. “We'll give you two some privacy then,” he says quietly. “Just um, text me when you're done. We'll be down in the cafeteria.”

He's not looking at him, but John thanks him anyway. And all the others as they slowly trickle out of the room one by one. He catches Cory by the arm as he walks by and whispers, “Hey, Matthews. No harm, no foul. You've got enough to worry about.”

Cory smiles, his eyes bright with tears. “I wanted to give him something,” he whispers too quietly for Shawn to hear. “One decision.”

He understands perfectly. Cory had Shawn's back when they were fourteen and he has his back now so many years later. So he pats Cory on the back as he leaves and then pulls a chair closer to Shawn's bed.

“So. Buddy.”

“I'm sorry, okay?” Shawn isn't looking at him. “I'm sorry. I'm just so tired of having everyone stare at me with big, sympathetic eyes and then burst out crying. They look at me like I'm already dead sometimes and I'm sick of it. And I'm tired of being in this hospital. I'm helpless and totally dependent on other people to help me do everything. I can't get dressed or shower or use the bathroom without paging a nurse so someone can stand outside the door in case something happens. I'm tired of telling people how I feel and answering the same questions every single day like I'm taking some sort of test. And I don't know what the right answers are. I'm tired of being treated like I’m this glass child who is too fragile to handle anything. I'm tired of people talking about me when they're standing right next to me. I'm tired of people making decisions for me without even asking me, and I'm tired of being judged every time they don't agree with what I choose. I'm tired of messing up and having to apologize for everything and-”

“Shawn,” John interrupts when Shawn takes a breath. “Just listen to me for a second.” He feels his heart break when he looks at his former student, who now seems younger than he's ever known him to be. He's tired of everything and John doesn't blame him one bit. Tired and frustrated and angry and annoyed and helpless. But he's also scared. He's scared and John can't do anything to help him this time.

“I'm sorry I didn't call you,” Shawn says again, ignoring John's request to listen. His voice is softer this time though. “I'm sorry I didn't call you right away. I should have. I just got sick of watching other people have to deal with this. They shouldn't have to. You shouldn't have to. I keep trying to protect the people I care about and at the end it's even worse than when I first started. Jack was right and I was wrong. Some things never change.”

“You're being too hard on yourself, Shawn.” John says gently. “You had good intentions like always. You've never wanted anyone else to get hurt. I'm not angry at you, Shawn. I'm not angry at anyone. I just wish I could have seen you again in any other way but this.”

Shawn finally meets his gaze. “I gotta be honest,” he admits sheepishly. “I'm pretty happy about it. I mean, some good has come of it at least.”

John doesn't know how to reply to that. He wants to be happy that he can see Shawn again, but the reason for seeing him completely ruins everything. He’s not happy to see Shawn right now. Not at all. But Shawn is happy to see him and John doesn’t know what to think about that. If everything has already gone straight to hell, then does any good count? Does it make any difference?

Taking note of his silence, Shawn raises his eyebrows. “Aren’t you happy to see me?” he asks, half joking. “It can’t be all that bad, can it? Believe it or not, John. I’ve become a silver lining type person. I’ve learned to look on the bright side. I’ve kind of had to, but I like to think that I’ve actually gotten pretty good at it in a fairly short span of time. As Cory if you don’t believe me.” There's a sarcastic bite to his voice, but only a small one. Shawn is serious now. “At least, I'm trying.”

John responds with a small chuckle. “I believe you, Shawn. And the best part about it is I think it’s real and good for you.” He reaches out and pats Shawn lightly on the shoulder. It never hurts anyone to be a little optimistic every now and then. My grandmother used to tell me to keep my head in the clouds, but my feet on the ground. It was easier said than done if you ask me. I don’t think she was trying to send me mixed messages, but you know me. It’s either one or the other. I could never figure out how to do both at the same time.”

It’s his turn to ramble now, but Shawn doesn’t smile. “So aren’t you happy to see me?” he asks again, more quietly this time “Or are you just too distracted by the fact that I might be dying?”

The words are harsh, but probably deserved. John flinches and looks away, turning to stare out the window. “I like to think that I'm an optimistic guy, Shawn. Make lemonade out of lemons. The glass is half full. Silver linings and all that.” His voice is raspy and he hates that so he clears his throat and then turns back to Shawn. “I've just always had some trouble being optimistic when it comes to you. Because you've always managed to keep me on the edge of my seat at best and scare the hell out of me at worst. And this,” John gestures to the bed and the nearby equipment. “I gotta admit, Shawn. This scares the hell out of me. I don't know if I'm capable of feeling anything but fear right now.”

Shawn is quiet for a long while before speaking again. He turns his wrist over, tracing the IV tube down the length of his arm. “What did he say? Jack. When he called you, what did he say?”

John isn't sure where Shawn is trying to direct the conversation, but he owes it to him to answer without another question. “He said that you were sick. Really sick. That you had cancer and it was an. . . aggressive kind. He also said that you didn't want me to know because you were already overwhelmed by everything. The cancer, the fuss everyone was making. But then he said that he didn't want to wait until things got really bad and then have to drop everything on me all at once.”

“Sounds pretty typical of Jack.” Shawn nods. “Fair and logical thinking. Like I said before, right as always. Or almost always anyway.”

John is grateful for Jack. He'd probably never believe it himself, but he's the perfect elder brother for Shawn. If Cory is the leader, fearlessly plunging headlong into whatever life throws at him and pulling everyone along with him, Jack is the quiet and patient shadow. He rarely speaks up or acts outside of the set routine, but when he does it's well worth paying attention to him. He's the stage hand to Cory's director.

“He cried, Shawn. Because he knew that him calling me was a breach in confidence. He couldn't give you what you wanted.”

“Yeah well,” Shawn mumbles. “I've never been the best judge of what I've wanted or needed. Jack knows that.”

He pauses, lost in thought for a moment, then looks over at John. “So why did you come if you're not happy?” He tries to sound challenging, but John hears the hurt and the weariness in his voice. “Because as much as I didn't want to add to the list of people losing sleep over me and as much as I really would love to make a decision all on my own, I really am happy to see you, John. And I'm sorry if it took me a while to realize that. I'm sorry I didn't call you right away. It was selfish of me to drag it out so long.”

John hears what Shawn doesn’t say. Sees it the fear in his brown eyes that makes him look all of eight years old. The old, lifelong self-blaming act rears its ugly head and John has to look away for a moment, the unspoken words still ringing in his head. “Are you mad at me?”

“Like I said before,” he reminds Shawn. “I’m not angry at you. I’m not angry at anyone. I’m angry at the situation, but not at anyone.”

“Okay, well.” Shawn fidgets nervously. “So basically, you’re too angry at said situation to be even the tiniest bit happy to see me?” He looks up at John, a grin lifting up one side of his mouth.

He’s tormented, John realizes with a throb of regret. He wants to tease to cover up his hurt and confusion, but over all of that he’s afraid that the teasing will just make things even worse. He doesn’t know how to proceed and the least John can do is help him out a little.

But he has to think about it. Really think about it. Because he’s not sure he can give a genuine answer. He wants to be happy to see Shawn, he really does. He wants to be over-the-moon thrilled. But every time he looks at him he can only feel a sickening sense of fear. The whole situation is colossally unfair.

Shawn swallows hard. “Let me guess,” he says, his voice quiet and carefully emotionless. “You'd rather I be fine and not be able to see me.”

“Then have you sick like this?” John runs his fingers through his hair. “I don't know, Shawn. I honestly don't know. Maybe?”

They both fall silent then, each contemplating the situation in his own way. John is still struggling to wrap his mind around the magnitude of the situation and breathe despite the terror he feels every time he so much as looks at Shawn. It's mind numbing. Suffocating. Like a waking nightmare.

He'd give anything to trade places with Shawn right here and now. In the blink of an eye. Without a single regret. It would be so much better that way. He wouldn't be afraid. Or angry. Or so hopelessly conflicted. He doesn't stand to lose nearly as much as Shawn. He's a drifter, never planting any roots and settling into one place for very long. He has relationships with people but with the exception of Shawn, he thinks, no one would find it particularly difficult to move on without him. Even Shawn seems to have changed and grown into a person who has sense of self-awareness. Even he would be okay without him. He's been okay for the two years since they last saw each other.

But Shawn has attachments. He has roots even if he too is constantly on the move. He has a place and people to come back to. A home. Losing him would devastate his loved ones. It kills John to know that he can't snap his fingers or make some sort of deal to be in Shawn's place. He should be in the hospital bed right now, there's absolutely no doubt about it.

Finally, Shawn turns away from the window and back to John. “Listen, I get why you feel the way you do. I don't blame you. I'd probably feel the same way myself. But the reality is that I am sick. Nothing is going to change that including you being here or halfway across the world. But what can change is how you feel about it all. You can keep looking at me like I'm a ticking time bomb because hey, maybe I am. Or maybe you can think that this sucks but we can still make the best out of it. We can at least try.”

He's right. John can feel a burning at the backs of his eyes and his throat feels stretched and tight. He blinks rapidly and rubs underneath his eyes, a shaky sigh escaping from between his lips. Leaning forward, he wraps his arms around Shawn, trying not to overthink whether he feels too thin or not.

Shawn responds instantly by hugging him back and John is caught off guard by the strength of his embrace. There's a familiar determination in his grip that encourages John in spite of the tears stubbornly crowding his eyes. He smiles then.

“It's good to see you, Shawn.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to reader Masquerader_at_the_Ivy_Gate for guessing who last chapter’s mysterious guest was going to be! I'll confess, I kinda forgot about Mr. Turner in the beginning of this story but as I've progressed through the show he has definitely become a character who needed to be added in. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I have no idea what Auggie is like, so I decided to make him a normal six-year-old boy. And in case anything was unclear, Mr. Turner has more or less been out of the picture long enough that he’s never seen any of the kids, but he has seen Shawn a handful of times. Annnd, that's all?
> 
> Thanks for reading, guys. I really truly appreciate it. It's almost 1am again and I have to be up at six for a long shift at work, but I really wanted to get this up, because we're really going to start moving forward and getting the real angst going. Who’s with me?


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it’s been a month? I’m sorry. I’m still dealing with stuff and trying to get unstuck so here’s what I came up with.

It's hot. Brutally, oppressively hot. The white sun beats down mercilessly on the city of New York, suffocating anyone as soon as they step outside. Stray cats laze under covered porches and cars, hoping to escape the blistering heat and find shelter from the flies who seem to thrive in this kind of weather. The streets are quiet and almost completely empty of people, save for the weary few who are unlucky enough to find themselves waiting for the bus.

Cory swats at a fly crawling along his collarbone and glances at his wristwatch. It's 12:14. Six more minutes until the bus is scheduled to arrive. And that's not even taking into account the very likely possibility of it running late. He can't bear to even entertain that thought though. As it is, waiting is toeing the line of bearable and unbearable. Bearable because it's currently his only option to see Shawn today and unbearable because it is just so ungodly hot.

It's the kind of heat that makes everybody miserable. Cory is practically drowning in his own sweat and he has long ago given up on pulling his clothes away from his skin so they don't stick. His grey shirt is practically black now and his hair lays matted to his forehead dripping uncomfortably. He feels disgusting and the feeling only serves to add to his irritability.

Next to him at the bus stop a mother is trying fruitlessly to shush her toddler boy who wails relentlessly, turning his already heat flushed face an even deeper shade of red. To her credit, the mother keeps her voice low and even, all of her attention on the upset child rather than on those around her. When he realizes how oblivious she is to the stares, Cory turns away feeling slightly ashamed. He remembers those days all too well.

Unfortunately, he's probably the only other parent in the small group because the rest of the strangers are giving the mother and son duo death glares. “Hey,” Cory says softly, addressing the man closest to him. “Just give them a break.” The other man looks like he wants to argue but decides that it's not worth it and instead shuffles a few paces away from Cory.

Doing his best to ignore the commotion Cory fans himself with his wallet, creating a pathetic wisp of a breeze that does nothing to assuage the the ugly heat. He can feel it pressing down on his chest making his movements sluggish and heavy. He shoves his wallet into his back pocket and checks his watch again. 12:16. He envies the small boy’s temper tantrum right now.

He never takes the bus. Unlike so many city dwellers he has his own car. But his Jeep is in the shop and so is Topanga's Honda. Engine trouble with the first and brake fluid for the latter. By tomorrow, later today even, they'll probably have both cars back. But that doesn't change the fact that they're both in there right now on this, the hottest day of the year. The timing is perfectly horrible.

It's not just horrible timing because of the weather. Shawn is having his first chemo treatment today. 10:30 this morning actually, but the trouble with the cars set everything off balance and now Cory is in one of his least favorite situations: he's late. Jack is there, sending him updates every so often, but Cory’s phone has been quiet lately and it worries him. The last text he received was to let him know that Shawn wasn’t feeling well and to just let them know when he arrived. It’s unnerving but Cory refrains from texting Jack back knowing that he’s probably busy taking care of Shawn.

There’s a sense of growing panic that Cory keeps trying to shove away. A gnawing fear that cramps up his stomach and makes him feel sick. The heat isn’t helping. He can't tell if it's the sun or the anxiety that's making him lightheaded and causing his heart to race slightly, but he has to close his eyes and take a deep breath to make the world stop tilting.

12:22. The bus is two minutes late. Cory pinches the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off an oncoming headache. Normally, he wouldn't mind waiting this much. It'd be an inconvenience for sure but it's just a few minutes. And even though those few minutes aren't going to change anything today, they still matter today. Today is important. Between both of the cars going in the shop and the ugly hot weather, he needs something to go right today.

His phone vibrates and Cory hurriedly pulls it from his pocket. His heart slams in his chest until he sees the text message is from Riley and not Jack.

_Can I talk 2 u when u get home?_

Cory frowns and bites his lip as his fingers slip shakily over the phone as he replies: _Everything okay?_

His phone is dotted with perspiration from his finger tips and Cory grimaces as he swipes it over his shirt. The action is counterproductive however as his shirt is already damp with sweat. The phone buzzes again and Cory gives up on cleaning it for the time being.

_Everything is fine. Promise. I just want to ask you something._

She's being too vague for Cory to relax. His thumbs hover over the screen as he mulls over his next response. He can call her, though that might be a little overbearing and make her clam up. She wants to talk, she just wants to do it on her terms. Cory knows enough about that to know that he just needs patience. Not everything comes in his time.

_Okay. Love you, sweetie._

_Luv u 2. How's Uncle Shawn?_

She wanted to come today. Between her and Maya, Cory might have given in had it not been for his sheer frustration over the lack of a car. But the unexpected delay made him more impatient and far less tolerant of their begging. Standing in the sun now, he's glad he convinced the girls to stay home with Topanga and Auggie today. But he also feels badly about letting his emotions get the best of him.

_Bus is late. Should be here any minute. I'll let you know asap._

Cory hesitates again. He's not a fan of apologies made over text. Something about it makes him cringe. He shakes his head and calls his daughter instead. It's not as good as face to face but it will have to do for now. And he might as well do something while waiting for the bus.

“Hi, Daddy.”

She sounds sad and Cory knows it's at least partially his fault. “Hey, sweetie. I just wanted to call so I could tell you how sorry I am about this morning. I know I didn't leave with us on the best of terms.”

“It's okay, Daddy.” Riley's like that. So sweet and kind, so quick to forgive. “I know you were super stressed. Maya knows that too.”

“Yeah well,” Cory glances up in relief as he sees the bus approach. Today is not the day he melts into a puddle on the streets of New York. “I still could have handled it better than I did. I should have. And I'm sorry I took out any anger or frustration or stress on you girls. It wasn't right of me.”

“None of this is right,” Riley says quietly as Cory climbs onto the bus. She pauses and Cory can hear her breathing shakily, the way she does when she's trying not to cry. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, sweetie. The bus just got here now so I'll let you know how Shawn is doing as soon as I get there and know for myself. I love you.” He says it again because these days Cory feels like he can never say it enough. Then he hangs up and sends Jack a quick text to let him know that he’s finally on his way.

The air conditioner in the bus is a welcome escape from the heat outside. Cory rests his head against the window and closes his eyes to make it easier to resist staring at his phone. He doesn’t really expect Jack to reply. But he can hope. No matter what he thinks about these days it somehow involves worrying about Shawn.

It’s been difficult on all of them. Riley and Maya have finals that they’re neglecting, and they’re arguing with one another almost constantly. Cory finds himself playing an even bigger game of catch-up with his grading and preparation for exams. Topanga chewed out one of Auggie’s teachers the other day because the woman gave him detention for “an extreme inability to focus and pay attention.” Jack jokes about needing caffeine through an IV but he looks like he actually needs one. They're a collective mess, in no shape for taking care of Shawn.

Shawn is. . . Cory frowns and opens his eyes to stare up at the blue sky. It looks so calm and peaceful. Inside the bus with its chilling air conditioner there's no way to tell how scorching it actually is outside. It's deceiving. As much as he wants to get to the hospital he's not looking forward to stepping outside of his temporary safe haven.

Shawn isn't doing well. Cory wants to throw up every time that thought passes through his mind because he's admitting it to himself. He can lie and pretend until he's blue in the face to Riley and Maya and everyone else. Whether they believe him or not, it makes him feel better somehow. But he can't lie to himself no matter how hard he tries.

The surgeries took a lot out of him. He was never a big person to begin with and he's lost enough weight to make him look sick. But it's his lack of energy that has Cory really concerned. He's never seen Shawn so weak. The smallest things like walking to the bathroom or even eating and drinking seem to exhaust him and leave him shaking. The doctor has promised them repeatedly that all of the surgeries could not have possibly gone better but it's hard to believe him when Shawn sleeps half the day away.

Doctor Jacobson talked with Jack the other day about the possibility of Shawn becoming depressed. Cory curls an arm  
around his middle to keep the nausea at bay. Depression really isn't very new territory where Shawn is concerned. He was misguided and self-destructive growing up, getting lost and stuck in dark places that even Cory had trouble pulling him out of sometimes. But for several long and wonderful years now, Shawn has been so incredibly happy and content that it makes Cory physically ill to think that it's all coming to a screeching halt.

He needs to come home. The hospital is like a cage. The same sights and sounds and routines day in and day out. It's enough to drive anyone a little crazy and it's been exceptionally hard on Shawn. He's not used to being so grounded, all but held hostage by his own body.

The bus hisses to a stop in the hospital parking lot and Cory mentally shakes himself before rising out of his seat. Nodding a thanks to the bus driver, he steps out into the sun feeling as though the heat knocks the breath of him even before his shoes touch the pavement. It's disgusting. Cory makes his way sluggishly to the front doors.

The path is a painfully familiar one. Elevator. Third floor. Oncology wing on the left. Another left. The corridor to Shawn's room on the right. He keeps his eyes down the entire time. Cory doesn't know if it makes him a terrible person to not want to see the other cancer patients in their rooms or waiting out in the hallways. Some of them look okay but some of them. . . some of them are thin and pale, wasting away. Their eyes are empty and sad, void of anything. They look like ghosts.

Cory taps quietly on Shawn's door and then opens it slowly. He puts a small smile on his face just before he pokes his head around the corner, a soft whisper on his lips. “Hey. . .”

He trails off right away when he sees Shawn. His best friend’s face is an unearthly shade of grey, even his lips. The thin, wispy wave of hair that's grown back is sweaty and matted to his forehead. He's trembling all over, and his eyes, bloodshot and swollen, are filled with more pain than Cory ever thought possible. As Cory enters, Shawn moans and starts to force himself into an upright position only to be so weak and shaky that Jack had to lift him up.

Jack doesn't look much better. Supporting Shawn with one arm, he reaches out and grabs a shallow basin with the other, moving it into Shawn's lap just as his younger brother vomits. His lips pressed tightly together and his eyes closed, Jack keeps a steady hand on his brother’s back, but the rest of him is shaking.

Cory stands there frozen as the whole ordeal lasts way too long. Shawn looks like he might snap in half with each violent heave of his body. Clutching the basin tightly, his fingers are bone white and shaking. He struggles to breathe but it comes out more like a strangled gasp than anything else. Jack's eyes stay closed and his lips move in a silent prayer, pleading for a reprieve.

“What-” Cory starts to ask in a faint whisper. He starts to move back to the door so he can find help, but at long last Shawn stops vomiting uncontrollably. He gags and spits into the basin before dragging in a clumsy, weakened inhale of breath.

“Okay?” Jack asks. He waits for Shawn's nod and then shoves the basin away. He motions to Cory. “Can you run that rag under the sink in the bathroom and bring it back please?”

Cory follows his instructions wordlessly. Over the running water he can hear Jack murmuring quietly but he can't make out Shawn's voice in reply. He hands the rag to Jack and then sinks into a nearby chair to wait and watch.

With a steady, practiced hand, Jack wipes the rag gently over Shawn's face, pressing it lightly to his forehead. Shawn is already laying down again, curled up in on himself and shaking. “I'm going to wash this out and I'll be right back, okay?” Jack asks. Shawn just nods again.

Jack passes by Cory, putting a hand on his shoulder briefly. “He's okay,” he says quietly. “I know he doesn't look like it but he's hooked up to an IV so we won't have to worry about him getting dehydrated. A nurse is checking on him every half hour or so. It looks worse than it is. That's what they keep telling me.”

Jack doesn't believe a single word that's coming out of his own mouth but Cory doesn't protest. He just nods. “Okay,” he manages.

Jack is staring at Shawn who has his eyes closed and is still trying to steady his breathing. “They said they'll let us know if we need to be worried. He might even get used to it.” He pauses and then locks eyes with Cory before adding, “This is the drug that's supposed to be helping him.”

Helping him, Cory thinks. It looks like it's killing him more than anything else they've encountered so far. Jack disappears into the bathroom and Cory is left alone with a practically unconscious Shawn. He bites his lip so hard that he tastes blood but he can feel the tears pooling in his eyes all the same.

His phone buzzes and testing his gaze away from the person on the bed who is supposed to be his best friend, Cory glances at the screen. It's from Riley. Again.

_How's Uncle Shawn?_

Cory looks back at the bed to see Shawn watching him through heavily lidded eyes. At first he's not sure how aware his friend is, if he even recognizes him or realizes that he's there. His eyes are fever bright with pain. Then, a tiny flicker of a smile ghosts over his face and he coughs once to clear his throat. He opens his mouth and speaks in a low, hoarse whisper that Cory can barely hear.

“You look like hell.”

“I look better than you.” Shawn is joking and Cory wants do the same for his friend’s sake. But instead he practically chokes on the truth and the laughter dies before it even escapes his lips.

Shawn offers up a weak grin. He looks almost delirious with pain. “Not possible.”

Cory can't keep up the pretense and shakes his head. “Shawn. . .” he tries. “You look-”

Like a ghost.

“You look like you need a drink,” Jack says, appearing at his side suddenly. He slips Cory a styrofoam cup of water and shrugs apologetically. “It's from the sink in the bathroom, but it's better than nothing. Drink or go get something from the vending machine down the hall.”

He isn't about to leave Shawn. Cory sips the water obediently, nodding his thanks. He looks away from Shawn for a moment to stare over the top of his cup at Jack instead. If he looks as bad as Shawn says he does then the three of them must make quite the group.

Jack’s face is pale and drawn, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than usually. His eyes are rimmed slightly in red from tears he hasn't yet let fall. He won't look at Cory but keeps his gaze trained on Shawn as he sits back down close to his brother. “How hot is it out there?” he asks distractedly.

It takes Cory a moment to gather himself together enough to work up an answer. “Hot,” he replies, trying to catch Jack’s gaze. If there something he's not telling him?

Shawn's eyes are closed now, his breathing finally easing into a more normal rhythm. “Not as hot as me,” he halfheartedly makes another joke, reaching up slowly to rub at his nose.

He can’t keep doing this. Cory exchanges a glance with Jack, relieved when the elder brother finally looks at him. “Why don’t you try to get some rest, Shawn?” he suggests quietly. “Do you. . .” he hesitates, unsure of how to proceed without hurting Shawn’s feelings. “Do you feel like you can sleep now, or?”

“Or am I going to throw up again?” Shawn sighs, but his eyes are still closed. Resting. “Honestly, I don’t know. The nausea comes and goes.”

“And what about the pain?”

A forced, tight lipped smile crosses Shawn's face briefly. “Constant.”

Cory tries to keep the anger from swallowing him whole. “Haven’t they given you anything?”

“It hasn't really helped,” Jack offers quietly. “They don't want to load him up too much because it could make the nausea worse.”

“I'm fine.”

Cory stares at Shawn, his whole face a mask of agony that's frightening to see. He wants to tell him that he doesn't look fine at all. That he looks like the furthest thing from fine imaginable. But he knows that Shawn already is way too aware of this fact and saying it will only make things worse, as impossible as worse seems. Besides, pretending everything is fine doesn’t make everything better, but neither does admitting how bad everything is.

“Do you need anything?” Jack asks quietly. “Ice chips maybe?” His hands hover uncertainly above his lap, longing to do something. He looks completely overwhelmed, his nerves beginning to fray.

“Uh-uh.” Shawn sighs deeply, cracking one eye open to peer up at his brother and Cory. “I think I’m gonna try to get some sleep for now. I don’t feel that sick right now so I might get lucky.”

The room falls into an easy silence. Cory pulls out his phone to reply to Riley, his fingers hesitating over the screen. What can he say to her? He can’t protect her anymore than he can help Shawn and it makes him feel like he’s drowning. When you’ve spent your entire life doing something and that’s taken from you it becomes impossible to recognize yourself.

The whole situation is still so out of his realm of belief. He doesn’t recognize anything or anyone. It’s like watching a train wreck and no matter how much he wants to look away, he just can’t. This kind of stuff doesn’t happen to him or people he knows. It happens to people he only hears about and can only feel a vague, distant sense of sympathy for, because his sense of gratitude that it’s not him is even stronger. But now it’s here and happening to all of them and if he could just wrap his mind around it then maybe, maybe Cory thinks, he might not feel so useless.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Jack offers in a whisper. Shawn appears to be sleeping now, or at least Cory hopes so. Jack looks like he could use several long hours of sleep himself, but Cory knows that’s not about to happen.

“I’m thinking of how to tell my teenage daughter that her uncle can’t move without throwing up or breathe without feeling an incredible amount of pain. I’m trying to figure out how to tell her that the medicine that’s supposed to be helping him seems to only be making him worse. Seems to be killing him.”

Cory's chest aches and feels tight. He tries to take a deep breath but his lungs refuse to cooperate and it feels like he's sucking in air through a straw. He covers his mouth with one hand and stares down at his phone. As if it's mocking him, it buzzes with another message from Riley and he flinches as if his hand has been burned. “I don't know what to tell her,” he finally confesses helplessly to Jack.

Jack is staring at Shawn who seems so small in the hospital bed. “I think,” he says quietly, thoughtfully. “I think that you should tell her the truth. Because it might not change anything. It's not going to magically make this go away or even get a little better. Lying isn't going to do that either. No matter what you do we're still stuck here. But if you tell her the truth, then you're protecting her.”

“Protecting her?”

“Cory, think about it.” Jack's voice is undeservedly gentle, but there's a worn note to it that worries Cory. He suddenly sounds so much older and more tired. “If you try to make any of this better than it actually is, she's going to get even more hurt when she finds out the truth. And she will find out, Cory. You can't hide this from her for forever.”

“Jack, what exactly are you saying?” Cory ignore his phone when it buzzes again, this time from a message from his wife. He looks up at Jack who looks almost as unrecognizable than Shawn. Jack who can't meet his gaze. “Is there something you're not telling me? Have they. . . have they found another tumor? Is there more cancer than they thought? What?”

Jack doesn't answer right away and each second that passes in silence is like another step towards a place he has no desire to move towards. Another spin of the nightmarish carousel that he can't get off of.

He can see the telltale shine in Jack's eyes, but it's the shaking in his voice that gives him away. “No,” he says, hardly convincing at all. “Nothing like that. I promise.”

“Why don't I believe you?”

“I want to believe my brother is going to get better, Cory. I hope he does. More than anything else. It's all I want. It's all I care about. I can't-” Jack's voice breaks and he hastily brushes a hand over his eyes. “I can't even think of the alternative. I can't.”

Neither can Cory. But right here and right now it seems unavoidable. Cory's brain just keeps shutting off every time it gets to the beginning of those thoughts. He can't process them.

“I'm just saying that for Riley's sake, I think it would be better for her to know that Shawn isn't doing well. Not so she can be prepared because I don't think there's any way she can be prepared for something like this. But I don't want her to have to deal with having her false hopes come crashing down. That hurts worse than anything, Cory. And then after that she'll have to deal with the truth. If she knows the truth, then she'll just deal with-” he gestures limply towards Shawn. “She'll have to look for the real hope just like us. Who knows? Maybe she'll find it. All I know is that I need all the help I can get because right now. . . I just don't know, Cory.”

He's right. Painfully right. Giving Riley false hope would be cruel. There's no sugarcoating this. Cory knows he'll hate himself either way but he'll hate himself even more if he lies to his daughter about this. And so will she.

He can't tell her in a text message though. Cory excuses himself, placing a hand on Jack's shoulder in silent support and casting one more look at Shawn before slowly leaving the room. He stands out in the hall, taking a few deep breaths before forcing himself to make the call.

Topanga picks up on the first ring. “What's wrong?” she demands, already panic stricken. In the background, Cory can hear the girls and Auggie talking anxiously, demanding to be let in on the conversation.

“He's okay.” The words fly out of Cory's mouth before he can stop himself and he's not sure if they're a lie or a truth. How does one classify okay when it came to Shawn these days?

“Then what took you so long to answer?”

The kids are all perfectly quiet now. Cory bites his lip. There's no use in keeping them in the dark, but with him at the hospital and them all back at the apartment, it still feels all wrong to him. He feels like he should be there in case he needs to pick up any pieces.

Right. He almost laughs at himself. Like he can pick up any pieces right now when he's already in plenty of pieces. What's that expression? The blind leading the blind? Humpty Dumpty picking up Humpty Dumpty? No time is the right time. No place is the right place. There's nothing right about this.

So Cory takes a deep breath and begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm trying to get the ball rolling again with this one. I just have some things going on in my head these days and it's making things a little difficult. I'm really sorry about that and I'll try to do better. I promise.


	15. Chapter 15

“Riles?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you think happens when we die?”

Riley stares up at the night sky, allowing Maya’s question to settle into the still air. Up above, a few stars twinkle brightly determined not to be outdone by the city lights around them. The city itself is unusually quiet. A low murmur of traffic on the streets below. The occasional train whistle. The sound of Maya's breathing close to Riley's ear. It's a familiar, comforting song. The window seat may be their favorite spot to sit and talk, but there was something about the rooftop that offered a welcomed escape from what they couldn't solve. Out here, everything and anything felt possible. The sky is literally the limit.

“Maybe we go to Pluto.”

The words come out more hopefully than the joking manner she intended, but they coax a soft little chuckle out of Maya. The silence that follows is brief, but it engulfs them until Riley reaches out for Maya's hand to make sure that she's still there. “I believe that there’s something more,” she offers.  “That all of this. . .  mess has to have some sort of purpose.  But I haven’t figured out what.”

Maya shivers, draws the fleece blanket a little tighter around her shoulders.  She looks small and vulnerable, dark circles making her eyes look larger than normal.  Those eyes, usually so bright and blue, are full of fear.  Riley’s heart aches when she realizes that she can’t do anything to take that fear away.  “Whatever it is,” she adds softly.  “I think it’s better than this.”

She feels the weight of Maya’s head on her shoulder and quickly moves to put her arms around her best friend.  “What happens,” she hears her ask, “to the people we love when we die?”

It’s a tough, bitter pill to swallow.  Riley stares up at the sky, watching as the stars begin to blur behind a veil of tears. She's never been afraid of death. Oh, she has plans, grand plans in fact, for her life. But if given the choice between her life and the people she loves. . . there's no choice at all. But she doesn't let herself think about how her loved ones might suffer. She doesn't let herself think about how there really is no selfless choice. When it comes to death, no one remains unscathed. Everyone has a price to pay.

“I think,” she says slowly. “I hope that they hold onto each other for support. That they love each other no matter what. That they get through it. Together.”

Her shoulder feels damp. It takes Riley too long to realize that Maya is crying. “I don't want to get through it. I don't want to have to get through it.”

Riley's throat feels so tight that the pain alone almost makes her cry. She chokes back a sob as she tightens her hold on Maya. “Neither do I,” she whispers fiercely. There’s a wild, uncontrollable longing that she feels.  A deep wish for things to return to normal.  She’s so sick and tired of being afraid and sad and helpless.  She hates everything that’s been happening lately.  

It's an ugly emotion, hate. It makes Riley's stomach hurt. She's always been “that girl”. The one who is all sunshine and rainbows and unicorns and happiness. Maya said once that if the sun ever burnt out, she could light up the world with her smile. Riley once took pride in her ability to look on the bright side and maintain and positive and cheery attitude of almost anything life might send her way. She isn't used to the quiet fire inside of her that just makes her want to fly into a rage. It makes her feel disgusting and terrible.  

The day before yesterday was the last time she has been to the hospital. Uncle Shawn was having a “good day” which meant he wasn't having a chemo treatment. He wasn't nauseous and thanks to a carefully controlled dose of medications he wasn't in a substantial amount of pain either. But he was still obviously sick. Quiet and withdrawn, and he looked exhausted. He didn't even really try to pretend that he felt okay.

But what made Riley so angry wasn’t just the fact that he was sick.  It wasn’t just the fact that her father looks like he hasn’t slept in days and probably hasn’t.  She’s always angry over those things anyway.  What caught her off guard and made her feel so uncomfortably angry in this particular instance was the doctor who stopped by Shawn’s room around noon when Shawn was asleep.

 

_ She wasn't supposed to be there. She was supposed to be in the cafeteria because the grownups had all collectively decided that she was too thin. She wasn't supposed to be lingering by the door and listening to what the new doctor had to say. She was supposed to be getting a chicken salad sandwich.  _

_ “I'm one of the hospital’s psychologist. I counsel some of our more long term patients.” _

_ “Counsel?” The sound of her father’s voice made Riley's stomach twist in an unwelcome but all too familiar way. He sounds bewildered and hurt by the very idea. Riley can’t blame him.  They have enough to worry about and the idea of counseling sounds terrifying. _

_ “Wait a minute,” Uncle Jack cuts in before the doctor can reply. “Shouldn’t Shawn get a say in this? Because he's sleeping right now and there's no way we're waking him up to talk to a shrink. What does he even need a shrink for anyway?” _

_ “Counselor. I'm Doctor Brown.” _

_ “Excuse me, Doctor Brown.” Jack's voice is dripping with sarcasm. Between that and the defeat in her father’s tone, Riley realizes that she doesn't recognize anyone these days and that they've all become strangers. Jack is angry.  It’s so unlike him to be angry and so defensive, but they’re all worn out and mere shells of their former selves. _

_ “Depression,” the doctor continues, ignoring Jack, “is a common issue that arises in long term hospital patients.  They often find it difficult to have so little independence and the beds and rooms get old rather quickly. It can also discourage them to face so many tests and treatments and still be sick. They need all the help they can get.” _

_ “His name is Shawn. And we're not going to talk about him like he's not here. He's asleep. And when he's feeling up to talk about something like this then we'll ask for another counselor.” _

_ “Mr. Hunter, I was simply trying to-” _

_ “My- our father was Mr. Hunter. I'm Jack and he's Shawn. And you're leaving. Please.”  Riley shivers a little as Jack’s icy words reach her ears.  But she doesn’t blame him.  She wants to smack the snobby doctor’s face and she has to ball her shaking hands into tight fists.  She doesn’t entirely trust herself right now. _

_ The doctor mumbles a half-hearted apology and Riley scrambles around the corner as she hears his footsteps drawing near.  Her heart is pounding so loudly that for a moment it drowns out every other sound.  She’s so uncontrollably angry right now at this pompous man who thought he could just waltz in on their lives and start ordering people around.  Biting her lip until she tastes blood, Riley stares at the floor and waits until she’s positive that the doctor is gone.   _

_ Hot tears blur her vision and she stumbles off to the nearest restroom.  Mercifully, she’s the only one in there and Riley locks herself in a stall before she starts to cry.  Deep sobs feel like they’re about to tear her apart. Her stomach hurts and she wants to throw up, positive that will make it at least a tiny bit better. _

 

“Hey, Riley. It's going to be okay. It has to be.”

Maya's voice jerks Riley back to reality. It's been a day but she's still crying. She's still angry. She's unwillingly switched positions with Maya, becoming the comforted rather than the comforter. They cling to each other for dear life, their friendship a life preserver in the rocky sea their world has become. It's a wild and desperate hope that they can survive this together just like they’ve survived everything.  Because how can they survive something if Shawn doesn’t?

“I’m angry,” she confesses to Maya.  “I’m scared and confused and tired, but more than anything else, I’m angry.  And I hate it.  It scares me even more.  I’m afraid that when I look in the mirror, Maya, that I won’t recognize the person staring back at me.  And all of this mess inside of me comes out in anger and I can’t control it at all.  I know I can’t control what’s happening to Shawn and I hate that, but I wish I could at least control me.  I wanted to hurt that counselor doctor who came into Shawn’s room the other day.  I hated him.  And I think I still do.”

Maya regards Riley carefully, silent for so long that it becomes unnerving.  She’s too serious, unusually reluctant to jump in with her opinion.  When Riley’s rambling comes to an end, she lifts her gaze to the stars as if they might have her answer.  “Some people handle their fear by being angry,” she says quietly.  “I think it kinda makes sense.  Everything gets turned upside down and it just becomes unfair and. . .” she trails off and shrugs.  “I mean it makes about as much sense as anything these days.”

Riley hastily drags a sleeve over her face, but the tears keep flowing stubbornly.  She sniffs  “I hate it,” she whispers.  “I’m scaring myself, Maya. I don’t want to hurt anyone.  Especially the people I love.”

She closes her eyes but she still feels Maya’s hand slip into hers and squeeze tightly.  “I’m not scared of you,” her best friend whispers.  “And I believe you won’t hurt anyone, especially the ones you care about.  Whether you feel like it or not, you’re still Riley Matthews.  I see you for who you are.”

Riley snorts.  “A scared little girl about to blow up?”

Maya sighs and leans in a little closer.  “My best friend.”

The cool breeze that brushes over them isn’t quite what makes Riley shiver.  She opens her eyes just in time to see a blink-and-you-miss-it light dash across the sky.  The tiny bit of her that she still recognizes as herself grabs onto that light and holds it close to her heart.  She makes a wish on the shooting star.  She wishes that no matter what else might happen, Uncle Shawn would somehow be okay.

She’s afraid.  She’s confused.  Angry.  Shaken.  Lost.  But she’s not alone.  The universe is vast and infinite, so incredibly beyond understanding of her flawed human mind, a teenage human mind at that.  People live and die and she’s not sure what happens before and after, but it’s the middle part that she’s in and currently trying to figure out.

“It’s a mess, isn’t it?” she asks Maya.  “We’re a mess.”

Maya hums thoughtfully.  “Agreed.”  Craning her neck, she follows Riley’s gaze to stare up at the sky.  The breeze catches bits of her hair and it tickles Riley’s face a little.  She smiles in spite of herself.  If she concentrates hard enough, she can almost pretend that everything is okay.

Almost.

“You know what?”

“What?”

She can hear the smile in Maya’s voice.  “I still like us.  Even though we’re a mess.  We’re a little different, but we’re still us.  And I like that”

Riley feels a tear trickle down her cheek and she can’t answer right away.  She clears her throat.  “Me too.”  

It doesn’t matter that she likes the way things were before even better.  Things have changed forever.  And she doesn’t know if they’ll ever be okay again.  But some things haven’t changed.  Some things, she’s confident, will never change.  And she likes that a lot.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to adjust to a new schedule of sorts but I feel like I'm drowning more than anything lol. Thank you for your patience!


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